The Edge of Tomorrow
by Bun800
Summary: Kidnapped for two months, Ichigo Kurosaki and Rukia Kuchiki must fight their way out of hell and survive. But when unknown secrets and reasons for their capture are constantly haunting them, the truth may not help them survive or escape their fate. Ichiruki AU story (previously titled "Sex on Fire")
1. Prologue: A new beginning

**Hello, there! Thanks for deciding to read my story! As an update, I recently changed the title from "Sex on Fire" to "The Edge of Tomorrow," a much more fitting one for a story of this caliber. However the original idea came from the band Kings Of Leon's music video "Sex On Fire" (seriously watch it if you haven't, you'll see where some of my ideas came from). I don't know why it was such an inspiration, but I automatically saw my story come to life. **

**As a note, some chapter titles will be from a song that may or may not have inspired my writing; many others won't, but they serve their purpose. But I will put what album + band/singer it is. Enjoy! Bleach (c) Tite Kubo**

Kings Of Leon ~ Only By The Night

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><p><em>I hate this. How did it all start?<em>

Thinking was irrelevant, but it shouldn't really matter now, should it?

". . . _Now_, what's your name?"

This voice reverberated in his ears like a mosquito. The really nasty buzzing, piss-you-off kind that wouldn't leave you alone until it was annihilated. There were two people in a fairly large spacious room, both male. One was standing up freely of his own will and dressed to perfection. An ideal dark suit perfect for any catalogue.

The other . . . well . . . .

The other man was silent while he sat in the hard wooden chair. The indent of a shallow red cut resting on his right cheek marred his slick face. He was blindfolded by a scrap of white cloth that just seemed to be found randomly in the back of a clothes drawer. His long white sleeved shirt had been inked with splotches of blood. His hands were tied behind the chair with rope, his fingers clenching and unclenching against the chafing bindings. The man was slightly slumped forward, as if he was exhausted or on the verge of unconsciousness.

He could see nothing but darkness, even though the cloth shielding his sight was light in color. He panted slightly as well, feeling constricted around this throat even though he knew there were no ropes residing there. The man gritted his teeth as he struggled against the rash wrapped around his wrists. Even the slightest pull against them was painful. Invisible knives sliced into his skin each time he moved. But if he kept going, he knew—

His ears perked up. And it was a repetitive noise he knew fairly well. He could hear the sound of the man's foot tapping against the tiles on the floor in front of him, obviously annoyed.

"You know, this could be a lot easier if you'd just speak—"

"What am I? A dog?" the man in the chair sneered. He may have been smirking, but it was short lived. The man now cried out in pain, for this time he did feel something slide around his neck and begin to choke him. It was worse than a choke though, it felt like someone was slicing through his neck with a blade sharper than the coldest knife, the beads of blood sliding down slowly against his heated skin, and dripping onto his already bloodied shirt. His throat was the vulnerable stem of a flower, just waiting to be sinfully snipped and die. The tendril was pulling down, wanting his head to come off. He panicked, and gave the ill-tempered man what he wanted.

"_I-Ichigo_!" he gritted out through his teeth, gasping for air, "_Ichigo . . . Kurosaki. . . ."_

The object causing him discomfort finally stopped its siege of slicing through his neck, and Ichigo began coughing and hyperventilating exasperatedly, expecting to feel the blood leave his lips in a rush. But this didn't happen. In fact, he conceived that there was absolutely nothing dripping from his neck—no slice ever existing.

_My name is Ichigo Kurosaki_.

"That's better."

Ichigo snapped his head back up towards the man who spoke, desperately wanting to see who was doing this to him.

"And your age?" He spoke these words casually, as if they were old friends going out to get something to eat.

_I don't know how long I've been here, but I've had enough._

Ichigo was silent again, aggravated by this man's cocksure attitude. But he had the slight paranoia that the unseen man would try to kill him once more. So he answered with a bitter: "Twenty-six."

"Wonderful." There was a loud scratching sound ahead, and from what Ichigo could tell, the man was writing on a sheet of paper probably attached to a clipboard.

_A couple weeks ago, I was kidnapped along with my girlfriend and we were taken here . . . wherever "here" is exactly._

Then the next thing Ichigo knew, he was yanked out of his seat, a startled grunt coming from his throat, and was dragged some thirty feet away. Why he did not struggle to free himself was unknown, and the _screech _of an old iron door being open welcomed him as he was thrown into this reclusive area.

_It feels like a prison._

Ichigo noticed that his hands were now untied, so he swiftly braced them in front of his body as the scraping sound of skin on tar befell his ears, and his palms soon stung. He barely grunted as the rest of his body connected with the hard, ridged surface of the floor. He felt drunk, and he hissed at the pain his skin screamed at. Laying there for a moment in slight shock, he finally picked his body up off of the gravelly surface carefully. Ichigo eased himself up and sat on his knees, fumbling lamely with the cloth and finally untying the knot behind his head that kept his vision hidden. But once the cloth left his face, his eyes were assaulted by a blinding white halogen light.

He quickly covered his withered eyes with his raw and scraped hands, and then stiffened. He heard a small chuckle say, "I'd just relax if I were you."

The man's voice was cold, but slightly humorous. His voice dripped with pleasure. "You're going to be here for a long time." The iron door slammed shut, and darkness filled the room, allowing Ichigo to uncover his blind eyes gradually. While he blinked and his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, there was nothing of real importance in the room to tell him exactly where he was. A make-shift bed and something grisly hiding in the corner looked like it was ready to bite his hand off if he went near it. Then again, was he just seeing mirages in darkness?

Silence was Ichigo's only company, and he heard nothing, that he can remember, for the next few days.

_They yell at you, abuse you, beat you—anything to make you bleed. But I feel like they're trying to make me stronger for some reason. It sounds crazy, but, hey. It could be all the sedatives they've given me over the past few weeks._

It was cold and lonely. Ichigo clawed at the stained fabric close to his heart, his other hand covering it to hide the shaking from his fear.

_. . . It's been a while . . ._

He was going to die here.  
><em><br>. . . So, after being held hostage for so long . . . I finally decided to fight back._

**The Edge of Tomorrow**

It was dark. Well, he knew that much anyway. Barely opening his eyes in the first place didn't help. At least not when he didn't know where he _was _in the first place.

Or what exactly had happened to begin with.

Groaning, and with eyelids weakly fluttering open, brown eyes took in the gritty view of what was a pale gray ceiling staring straight back at this person. He was male, around his mid-twenties and had bright orange hair that could be called ostentatious by the Merriam-Webster's dictionary.

He sighed heavily, and when he breathed in, a nasty, old hazy smell of must still clung onto the air like a crutch, not wanting to give in to its age. Worse was his breathing almost seemed constricted as he laid on a . . . cold metal table?

When his eyes had finally gotten adjusted to the bland lighting, he shifted them to each side, not seeing anything to tell this person where he was exactly.

He moaned uncomfortably. It felt like he was drunk. Not so much alcohol though, more like . . . drugs? Maybe it was something like anesthesia. He was pretty bad that time when he got his wisdom teeth out when he was seventeen, and it felt just like this; groggy, miserable, confused/dazed, tired, and pretty much unable to function properly whatsoever. Not to mention that his father had said he had been out cold for twenty hours straight when they got home. Freakin' medicine.  
><em><br>Oh crap._ A solid thought just happened to pass through his wracked mind. What about the _Date Rape _drug? He had heard about side effects such as being tired and dysfunctional, and none of them were all that too pretty. But roofies were usually slipped in a _woman's_ drink, not a man's. Plus! When the hell was the last time he had even had a drink? Of water, of anything really. Ugh, the worst of it all was him thinking _Did I actually get raped?_

All in the back of his mind, he was telling himself, "_Ichigo, just open your damn eyes,_" in a highly impatient, annoyed voice.

He blinked hard, his sight still slowly returning to what it originally was. Getting back to reality, and actually trying to ignore the fact that he might have been "raped," yes, it was a raised metal table—reminding him of a surgeon's table in an operating room—in the center of a room that he couldn't recognize. Taking in another deep breath trying to clear his hazed mind—but soon regretting it and gagging slightly—the man named Ichigo tried to sit up, but felt a tug hold him back. He tried to bring his hands to lay in his lap, but they wouldn't obey. It was then that he realized his arms were spread apart from his body, and they were chained to the table!

"What?" he said in a weak and drained voice, tugging against them sharply. From what Ichigo could tell, they were shackles with a glossy silver glint. And this was from what he could see in the low light. The bands chaffed his bruised and scarred wrists as he struggled to free himself from the short metal handcuffs that were conjoined with the table.

Ichigo pulled hard against them with no avail. He gritted his teeth, and as he continued to struggle, Ichigo slid his feet back to give his torso some leverage. He pushed himself up, making his chest stick out, but unfortunately he was only able to raise half of his body as he pulled against the soldered bindings.

A slick, sliding _screech _noise came from his heels as he began to lose his grip. Not wanting this to happen, he tried harder to free himself, complaining with incoherent curses and more fury.

No luck.

Ichigo grunted when his feet slipped and his body fell back onto the frozen table in a heavy heap.

He panted. Ichigo was out of energy, and felt exhausted. He would have curled into the fetal position, but it wasn't dealt in the cards. It was pointless to even try. His chest rose and fell heavily; it felt like all the air was being sucked out of the room. His eyes shifted all around the confines again when Ichigo noticed something. It wasn't necessarily that important, he just thought it was weird.

Ichigo was wearing all black. Not just any kind of black though, it was all deep shades and milky rich with the dye. Leather black boots with dark jeans and an onyx belt to go with it. Ichigo was wearing a black wife beater as well, and when he looked down to see what else he was wearing, this was when he felt the cool metal surrounding his neck. Ichigo had on a silver chained necklace with an even heavier piece of metal placed on the center of his chest. He inspected it with sleepy eyes. It was a dog tag with an inscription on it. The dim light didn't allow him to see what exactly was written, but he didn't really care at the moment either. As Ichigo was just about to attempt another struggle against the chains, a light shuffling sound crossed the floor to his battered ears.

"Oh, so you woke up huh?"

Ichigo became startled as his eyes failed to focus on the person who was coming toward him.

"My, my, I didn't think you'd wake up that fast, Mr. Kurosaki."

The chains clanked as he laid on the table, trying to badly act like he knew the guy was there the whole time.

Ichigo, still weak with exhaustion, merely stared back at this man who shook his camo-green masked face from side to side.

"This simply will not do," he muttered more to himself as he dove into a pocket in his "suit" for something of importance. He sounded like a father scolding his child.

Ichigo's eyes snapped wide. No more of this tired shit anymore, he immediately woke up and felt his entire system go berserk in one jolt.

The man held up a needle in one hand, pulling a set of keys out from another baggy pocket. He stepped closer, squirting out whatever extra liquid was in the vial, talking to Ichigo as he went. "You know, I'm not supposed to do this, but I _really _do think you would make a _great _subject. Your body's been handling everything so well, and this shot," he said, indicating the needle, "could do so much more for your potential." He was standing next to the table now, basically hovering over the incapacitated young man. "It's gonna make you sleep for a while though." He brought the drug closer to his tensing arm.

Ichigo coughed out a soft, "_No._"

The other man, ready to stick him with the needle, bristled at hearing Ichigo's hoarse voice. "'No'?" He responded with a smug tone, and stopped his pursuit on Ichigo's veins.

Ichigo eyed this creep wearily.

He was wearing a completely white body suit, with something similar to a gas mask on his face, but more twisted. The damaged glass eyes were blown out of proportion to an actual person's eye, and they were clamped down so tight against the mask it looked like it would shatter in a second. The mouthpiece—ugh. Even with his system back in order somewhat, Ichigo couldn't even begin to think on how to describe this grotesque "uniform."

"Young man, you are _His _perfect weapon," the man started, leaving Ichigo to raise an eyebrow confused. "And as a _Doctor_, _I _am in charge on how I think you will serve _Him _better."

The doctor was bringing the needle back to his bicep again, making Ichigo's adrenaline run. "And you will be His perfect weapon." The man pressed down on Ichigo's wrist to keep him steady.

_Fight back_. . . That was the only thing that crossed through Ichigo's mind in that instant.

Right when the doctor was about to stick him with the needle, Ichigo used all of his remaining strength and brought his knees up to his chest, screaming as he slammed his heels into this "_man's_" upper body, sending him flying backwards. _Hard_.

When he did this, the masked freak grunted like he'd been shot; the needle and keys flying out of the man's hands in different directions. It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Did he actually kick him in the face? He was unsure. There was a nervous excitement speeding through his bones. But keeping this creep away from Ichigo was his number one priority, and he was _not _going to be pricked with this "_Doctor's_" syringe. And he collapsed, and that was all that mattered. Time sped back up.

Ichigo's body slammed back onto the table with harsh crash and grunted as if he had also been kicked. And then he looked up. The keys were flying so close to his face—

With agility and self-amazement, Ichigo stretched his neck out far enough and caught the keys with his teeth before they went just over his shoulder and out of reach.

Once this was successfully done, Ichigo did his best to toss the keys over into his right hand. Unfortunately nothing ever works out the way you need it to, and the keys landed in between his shoulder and his chained wrist. Ichigo grimaced as he tried to reach in between the empty space, attempting to use his shoulder to nudge them over, but the metal cuff around his wrist would only allow him minimal reach. He tried again, but only managed to flip a key from one side to the other. _Dammit!_

"_Ack!_" The man in front of him coughed like a heavy smoker and began to stand up, using a nearby table cluttered with technology for support. He rubbed his jaw with his black gloved hand and snarled. The mask had been cracked, his mouth exposed and the anger ripping from his throat more audible. "You little . . ."

Ichigo heard the doctor rustle some things around in the distance, searching for something, but he didn't pay attention. He really didn't give a shit. All of his focus was trained onto grabbing that damn set of keys. Of course, because his arms were basically tied down, Ichigo couldn't reach fast enough or was even flexible enough. He tried to use his middle finger to drag them closer to his hand. He stretched his wrist as far as he could, caressing the key ring so gingerly while he tensed his muscles further, damning the keys to come to him.

"Ah-ha!" Metal scraped against metal.

Ichigo took a quick peek back to see what the doctor was—he completely froze when he saw what the man had in his hand.

An axe. _An Axe?_ Its blade looked like it was smiling at him in the darkness, just knowing that it was about to carve into someone's flesh, ripping their skin open, spilling pints of blood everywhere, and causing the absolute most painful screaming agony ever imaginable. A true Hell.

The doctor kissed the handle through the crack on his mask. "_I've always wanted to use this_," he said lustfully about the tool.

Paralyzed by the illusion of his future death, Ichigo had to pick up his pace now or he was going to die! He steered his attention back to himself and clawed at the key ring, fright having him rake metal filings off the table. It needed to come to him—why couldn't he reach it?

Mercy finally gave him a break. The cuff around his wrist had loosened its grip just enough so the ring could slip around his middle finger. Ichigo smiled with relief. The mass of weight bearing down on his mind that he would die here retreated like a wounded animal. He could do this!

But there were two keys on the ring and he had no idea which was which. Mercy was screwing with him. He attempted the first key, fumbling with it like a blind man, and it nearly slipped out of his fingers and dropped back onto the table from its small size. Sweat formed on his brow. He switched tactics and with a ballsy move, chose the second key.

All along the doctor was buying his time, watching Ichigo with a sadistic amusement. He found it hysterical that the test subject even cared about his life. He sensed Ichigo's desperation to live, and it only pissed him off more. _This kid was dead_. He lifted the axe's handle and stalked forward.

Because he wasn't flexible enough, Ichigo struggled to get the key into the lock, but the damn key wouldn't go into the hole. _Come on! _If the cuff didn't make it so difficult . . . He was panicking now; the man was getting closer, snarling and growling at him like he was dying to sink his teeth and weapon into his skin. He could hear the man's ragged breathing as his steps dragged ever so slowly.

Closer and closer—_why the fuck wasn't this key going in the hole_? It was the only other one on the loop!

As a fierce desire to live kept him messing with the key hole, doubt also clouded his heart. But one person on his mind released the anchor off his chest so it wouldn't burden him anymore. Hope shone like moonlight once again. This chance was all he was getting; he wasn't going to let it go to waste for her sake.

_Please, don't let me die here . . . . _A noise made his heart beat rapidly, his eyes freezing on the spot attaching him to the table.

Then the most satisfying, seductive _chink _of releasing metal changed his fate. There was one sharp _click _and it was the most important noise he would ever hear in his life—he was free!

_Yes! _The cuff finally released its hold on Ichigo and clanked onto the table. Ichigo's eyes barely took in the scene before him when a dark, deviously instinctive presence roared in his blood. The monster swung the axe down hard.

"I'LL TEACH YOU, YOU LITTLE SHI—!"

With all his remaining strength, Ichigo rose and whipped his arm around and viciously slammed his fist into the doctor's cracked mask, pieces flying in all directions where his nose was, causing it to gush blood on contact. Glass stabbed into his flesh and left deep cuts close to his black eyes; Ichigo hoped he would become blind. A chipped tooth flew from his gritty lips. His head snapped to one side, a sharp _crack _being noted in Ichigo's clouded mind—it was the vertebrae in the bastard's neck that separated. The studious "_Doctor_" dropped the axe on the floor as he toppled backwards unconscious—dead?—this time around, his body loudly crashing when it hit against steel counter tops and squealing rolling tables.

Ichigo sat stunned, gasping and clutching his free hand against his rapidly beating heart. Sweat had begun to emerge from his pores, sliding down his neck until they met with the fabric of his tank top. That had been so frightening—probably the most frightening thing he had ever experienced in his entire life. Well, there were obvious other things in his life that had been more scary, but this was definitely in the top five.

He waited several minutes before he did anything else—too shaken to even consider anything other than the shivers running up and down his spine. Ichigo felt sick for an instant as well. Luckily it subsided. After he was positively certain the doctor was knocked out, dead, Ichigo brought the blessed key to his other wrist and smiled when the cuff unlocked. It clattered onto the metallic casket, and the now freed man tenderly rubbed his swollen wrists with care.

That was when the thought hit him.

He was free.

Ichigo sighed with relaxation now that he had nothing to worry about at the moment, but something happened, and he fell off of the table and grunted when he hit the ground, feeling the colder and even harder surface like a deathly blizzard. The metal table became the floor, Ichigo barely conceiving that he had just fallen at all.

Ichigo's knuckles burned with the sensation of hitting solid skin. The man was out cold behind him, and he was shaking from the intensity of adrenaline flooding through his veins. He huffed and panted; the sense of momentum still tingled through his tense body until he finally placed a hand on the winter-stained table, and stood up, steadying himself against it. Still panting, he placed another hand on his ribs, feeling his lungs rasping beneath his surprisingly unbroken bones and worn skin.

But Ichigo was ready to sink to the ground again. His body was giving away beneath him, and his heart was flying with a thousand beats per second. He braced himself harder against the table, not giving in to the weakness of his knees. Even though he didn't want to admit it, Ichigo's entire body felt like it was going to collapse beneath him. And along with this, his heartbeat would be the death of him. Out of nowhere his heart blossomed with pain. He never felt it beat so damn hard in his chest before. The racing of his irregular heartbeat made him nervous, weakened already by the narcotics, but getting the shit kicked out of him now by his own organ was a bitch. He felt a flurry of dizziness haze over his eyes, a darkness seeming to be the weight on his chest. His heart wanted to be set free, to be able to burst out of his ribcage and flop bleeding on the floor. Only then would it be happy and stop pounding away at his insides.

This wasn't going to happen though. Ichigo wasn't going to die from a heart attack at the age of twenty-six! Hell no! He mentally told himself this. He. Would. _Not_. Die. Not here, _never _here. Death would never consume him in this God-forsaken place. He demanded it of himself.

Almost as if the mental demand triggered an involuntary impulse, Ichigo's heartbeat slowed, quieting down. It felt like it was regulating how it typically would on an average day. He placed a hand over his heart—the beat was normal once again.

Confusion swept over him, and he almost fell over again, practically fainting. If it weren't for his hand steadying him, he would have landed on the floor in a sore heap. Ichigo stood up as straight as he could; it felt like he had been lying on that table forever. But the recent rush of adrenaline through his blood was a definite wake-up call. Finally thinking that his legs wouldn't give way, he released his hold from the table, and stood on his own two feet for what felt like the first time in ages. He arched his back, hands on his hips, trying to get some of the feeling back in his body to flow down his spine.

Ichigo groaned and rubbed his face with his hands, trying to relive some of the stress and trying to wake up more. It wasn't like he was _actually _going to go back to sleep, for crying out loud.

His fingers rubbed against something scratchy, feeling the stubble growing around his mouth and a bit on his chin. When was the last time he shaved? He ran a hand through his hair sighing, trying to think. But this was a distraction too. Even here he noticed his usual short spiked hair felt longer than it originally was. It had grown a bit past his ears and a partially down his neck; it felt shaggy.

And more importantly, he kept ignoring the huge obnoxious flashing neon pink sign standing in front of him.

Where the fuck was he? And what the hell was he doing here?


	2. Sex On Fire

**Update: If you can survive reading this chapter which I stupidly decided to make long four years ago, I promise you won't regret it!**

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><p><em>Where am I?<em>

Ichigo sighed again and shook his head. He really needed to think about this.  
><em><br>__Okay, I've been taken somewhere where I don't know where I am, and I have absolutely no clue what's going on. . . . Yeah, this is going to work out great_. He rolled his eyes at his own sarcasm when he saw something pretty odd—okay _more _odd, at least to him, than before.

The door was open. Completely wide open. Was this a freakin' joke? Were they actually screwing with him into thinking that he could just leave at his own leisure? Go on his own free will? Light poured into the room like actual warm sunlight, giving him a sense of a false calm.

He wasn't buying it.

And to the left of his gateway to freedom was an image of himself. A perfectly clear, large glass mirror staring straight back at him was attached to the wall, complete with a wooden desk and chair. It appeared to be an old vanity table with an upgrade. A strange item in a room or place like this, he noted. On the dusky colored table sat a small spiral-bound notebook and another set of keys; the mirror was what kept his interest however.

There he stood, alive and looking fairly healthy for being knocked out for God knows how long. From a distance, it looked like he had grown an inch, which didn't make any sense, because he stopped growing around when he was twenty-two.

He walked up to his image and gave himself a once-over. His hair had definitely grown longer and the orange facial hair pissed him off. There was a pale mark on his right cheek, knowing right away it was a tiny scar. Although Ichigo's eyes were something he didn't enjoy looking at in this mirror. They looked aged with worry, stress, and a strange emotion filled him when he got nearer and pulled at the skin around his eyes. It was a moody, dark feeling that was touch-and-go. He released his skin and frowned from weariness. One thing he noticed was that his body was not as badly damaged as he first thought. There were no scars or bruises aside his wrists, and his arms were toned with muscle. His body appeared to actually be in great shape the more he stared at himself. From what he could see without removing his clothes, he looked to have lost weight (obviously), gained it back in muscle, and appeared to have the prowess of a fighter.

Getting another close look at himself, he tucked some loose hair behind his ear and rested his palm on the back of the chair, feeling a wonderful softness.

A smooth, black leather jacket rested on the back of the seat, waiting for its owner to return and pick it up. Ichigo pulled it away from the chair and slipped it on; the table had stained a burdensome chill in his spine. Coincidentally the jacket fit him perfectly like it was personally made for him. Lovely.

Ichigo picked up the thin notebook, flipping through the pages for anything of importance. It was filled with random notes, all having to do something with chemistry and a lot of gibberish that he couldn't understand for the life of him. If people thought figuring out Japanese was difficult, then this was another entire mess waiting to happen.

A hot red poker stuck into his brain; the book dropped to the floor. His expression went blank as he thought of faltering memories. They were black and white splotches from a dream. _That night . . ._What had happened? _Those men . . . _And where? His breath hitched as her face floated into his mind's eye. _Where was she? _

One way or another, he would leave this place. But he would never leave without . . . .

His eyes flashed with determination as he looked at the open door. No going back after he decided to leave this room, but there really was no life here to begin with anyway. He was going to find her as a final wish.

As he decided to leave, one more thing caught Ichigo's attention. The keys on the desk were sitting _way_too conspicuous to just be "accidentally" left there. It was like somebody wanted him to pick up the set of keys and take them along for the journey.

He eyed the keys carefully. The shape was of a rounded triangle with soft edges, a metallic gray outer color and black circle in the center. What looked like a bull or even a Taurus sign rampaged the circle in a striking yellow, distinguishable at a short distance. It also doubled as a button. A tiny sleek chain attached itself to the black key swinging limply as Ichigo held it in his palm. He couldn't place what the symbol stood for strangely. But he had definitely seen it at one point during his short lifetime. Was the car meant to be a surprise?

Maybe this was a trap too.  
><em><br>__Whatever_. He shoved them in the pocket of his way-too-tight jeans and set off in search of an escape, and for his friend.

Ichigo peeked out into the hallway with scouring brown eyes, seeing nothing but white-washed walls and equally charming sleek tiles on the floor. No decorations, paintings, or even bulletin boards adorned the panels. He did not see a security camera at all. There were no souls on the floor either. Ichigo stepped out into the walkway cautiously and went left, running.

His eyes swam back and forth while on the constant lookout for an enemy who got in his way and tried to stop him. But he would escape—he _had _to escape—except the place was a maze, and he was only a tiny mouse running through it. The corridors were constantly twisting and turning. Ichigo realized the building itself and its walls were completely white like a scrubbed-down hospital meant for mental patients. _Was that was he was supposed to be? _

The sound of an airtight door swooshing open made Ichigo think twice before slinking down this hallway, forcing him to stop abruptly and jump back quickly, throwing his body behind a corner to remain hidden. Voices emerged the moment his back hit the wall. His eyes shifted around the corner, giving him a decent view of the hall.

Two men both in all-white body suits, facemasks and large goggles like those a skier wore on the slopes walked out of the door, one pushing a cart, the other talking in an irritated tone, clearly complaining to his partner along their route.

"Dammit, I'm not getting paid enough for this! I swear, I'm gonna give it to that bitch so bad"—he gestured, throwing his gloved fist forward angrily as if into her stomach—"she'll want to die this time!"

The one with the cart, it filled with all types of medical supplies ranging from hypodermic needles, knives, sutures, scalpels, a large specula and dilator, a retractor, forceps, even an extra IV filled with ruby red blood laying on its side, remained calm. Ichigo eyed his tools harder. They were all the types of equipment used in a simple procedure or extensive surgery for an average MD. The suturing needles would join the lips of a wound together by stitching; the retractor could spread open the skin or ribs as used in an autopsy; a specula used for access into narrow passages, or allowed entry into a bodily cavity. It was mainly used by gynecologists on women and went into their—Ichigo shook his head rapidly from the sudden swarm of information pulsating in his head and he nearly fell. He had to place a hand on his face to try and relieve the oncoming headache or brain aneurism, closing his eyes from pain, hoping it would subside. However the hell he knew all that medical information by a subtle glance was beyond his interest at this second. When he had calmed, he continued to listen, peeking back around the corner.

The second man replied casually, "Relax. She just scratched you—"

"Yeah, because your damned anesthesia didn't work, idiot!"

The one with the cart sighed, shook his head. "That's because _you _had to start right away. If you had waited another two minutes exactly like I _told _you, she would have been fully unconscious and wouldn't have woken up." His voice was etched with drops of annoyance this time. "You should just be lucky the surgery went alright. Plus, she's completely sedated by now. The girl's harmless. She's not lethal . . . _yet_."

"You sure?" the bitter one asked unconvinced. "I don't want to die from that whore." He lifted up his sleeve and pulled off the large black glove that sealed his skin away from the world.

From what Ichigo could see this time, it was a large gash on his forearm consisting of four jagged claw marks lined in red rows. They looked deep and were laced with stitches. "Pff. Scratch, my ass! I'm surprised that bitch didn't hit the bone!"

"Don't worry, it was only your arm—"

"_And a part of my face, idiot!" _he seethed.

"Whatever." Ichigo could tell that the man with the cart rolled his eyes under the mask as he began to walk forward down the rest of the corridor. "If she was under the _special _drug, you definitely would have died." His tone ended in a chipper attitude meant to piss off his partner, succeeding of course.

"Thanks, asshole." He put his enormous glove back on, hissing as it slid over the cauterized flesh. He followed after his co-worker once the cart turned a corner opposite Ichigo's hallway. The man with the gash started up again: "At least we have twelve down. A couple more and the Boss should be happy for once. _Then the righteous prick can finally have . . . ."_

But Ichigo couldn't hear any more of the man's words. He strained his ears to hear the remaining fragments of the sentence, the faintest of syllables, but the two were officially gone. Knowing the coast was finally clear, but taking a quick sweep around his surroundings anyway, he went down the hall where the two doctors had just been, taking the opposing direction they hadn't gone down. Ichigo continued his search for a way out, all while looking for his friend. He didn't bother to check in the room the two goons had been in, it wasn't necessary. He would have heard her crying out. He would have felt her presence nearby. So he kept on running, thinking over what the doctors were talking about. _Special drugs? Augh! What are they doing here? What have they done with you? What have they done with us?_

He tried to keep his feet light has his heels hit rapidly on the speckled floor. Ichigo felt like he was running around in circles again when he kept hitting dead ends or useless passages that led to nowhere. Constantly stopping at these was tiring and dangerous if he was found. He did not need to be down the wrong hallway at the wrong time. But Ichigo had no idea where he was even running to! Everywhere he went, Ichigo was either stopped by a dead end, men in those horrid white suits coming towards him, forcing him to turn back, or just plainly getting lost and not knowing where the hell he exactly was. Ichigo figured they probably did this on purpose in case anyone else tried to escape. Confuse your captor into giving himself in, only to endure more suffering from this place. But he never would. He needed to escape—they needed to get away from here! But even when he did look in the occasional room that just happened to have the door slightly ajar, there was nothing of real importance in it. Truly, he had only peeked into about five or so rooms, but they were all the same. White-washed walls with metal tables. They all reminded him of the room where he had been shackled to the table, sending a river of cold shivers to trickle up and down his spine that his jacket could not warm.

And this freaking game was starting to get to Ichigo.

_Where are you?_

Running still, Ichigo only slowed his pace a bit when light caught his peripheral vision while crossing the entrance to an open hallway. Something inside him made Ichigo need a second opinion about looking closely at that corridor, so he made a hasty move. He stopped and backed up, the hair on the back of his neck beginning to rise. A dark lashed, brown eye peered around the corner discreetly. All was clear, no cameras, and there was a closed white door at the end of the hall. The light was coming from a connecting hallway on the right. All the while being cautious not to set off any hidden sensors, he walked slowly into this area, being drawn to the light like a moth to a flame.

He came to an opened area filled with ten large vertical windows stretching from the ceiling to the floor. He walked into this tube-like hallway, making sure to keep his image hidden from below. Each side consisted of an embellished, laudable laboratory filled to the brim with the latest technology, computers, and tools. He looked from his right to his left, fascinated by this place. The lab on his right was a colossal size, men looking like scientists floating around their computers and small experiments. They actually seemed to be hard working, decent people. _What a joke_. He went closer to the left side, looking down at . . . .

Ichigo's brown eyes widened as a breath of white death passed over his bones. Through the window, he saw his friend be beaten down with abysmal fury. She had been slammed so hard in the face that he swore he heard her neck crack and snap from the force of the punch. Then she sailed down to the floor like a nuke on target. The people who had mutilated his friend were not finished yet however, and they started after her once more.

Her name fell from his mouth as he watched her murder in horror. " . . . . _Rukia _. . . ."

He needed to find a way down to her _now_.

* * *

><p>A hard, solid <em>slap <em>against previously battered cheekbones made a car wreck sound like angels singing in Heaven. A small woman—could've been a seventeen-year-old girl at a first glance—had been slapped abusively in the face, causing her to grit her teeth and yell at the pain all while losing her footing and nearly sailing unconscious to the floor. The girl's face smacked the frozen tiled beast with full-on contact, a searing headache beginning to erupt across her forehead as blood welcomed itself to her nose and met the floor. She could also feel a small cut somewhere on her face donating blood to the gritty beast as well. Black shoulder-length hair fluttered around her bruised neck and face, the strands and some of the tips tasting the unwanted flavor of copper in the blood.

"Great, now we got this mess to clean up," a male voice said towering over the girl's fallen form.

Sluggishly positioning her hands to push herself up off of the ground, the pasty gore glued to her palms, the girl felt her clothing being yanked away from her body roughly. The men acted as if they wanted to violate her in the most horrific way known to women, but she was still dizzy from her head cracking against the floor to do anything to stop them. She wasn't thinking straight or clearly. Her brain had been too rattled by the feeling of hitting the ground like a brick.

But then hands turned her body around to face them. The girl was flickering in and out of consciousness when her head fell weakly back, her neck no longer providing support. With her eyes half lidded and rasping breath shallow, everything began to slowly lengthen. The people who picked her up wore what looked like a white toxic suit, and a twisted looking mask. It reminded her of when she first saw _Batman Begins_ with Christian Bale while in college. A character named Scarecrow used a poison to sicken a person's mind when sprayed into the air. They might as well have drugged her in such a similar way so that when she looked at them it would cause automatic and perpetual fear. But she was actually not afraid of these devious men—no, simply angry at herself for not having the courage or strength to beat them away.

And she knew they were men, for their voices were rugged and their black gloved hands were rough and disgraced her soft cream skin with more bruises.

And when the girl attempted to form cursing words, it was then that she felt the cold, sharp needle pierce into her chest. She inhaled sharply, her midnight blue eyes enlarging from the shock of electrified pain stabbing into her flesh. She moaned softly as she felt the liquids flow and drain into her already weakened and battered body. What was left of the raven-haired girl's strength grew weak along with her heart. She could feel its beating grow more slowly as the seconds lasted for centuries. Her heartbeat forgot to pump blood for a moment and stalled, dazed.

"This should keep her quiet for a while," one of the men said to the other.

Struggling to keep her sanity and reality from escaping behind fleeting emotions, it was no use. One of her hands fell limply down by her hip, hanging useless in the air, and her entire body finally fell loose from the man's grip, allowing her to fall to the floor once more. Her head bounced off the tiles like rubber. She could barely moan or move in her sedated state, not even blink to remove the microscopic specks of dust dwindling in the air like iced fairies. When her head lolled to the side, her blurry vision "saw" what looked like a room filled with machines and mechanics for the first time; a laboratory of sorts.

As the years passed over her dulled eyes, she could feel somewhat with her numb body. They rolled her on to her stomach; her hands being tied behind her back. With a yank upward she could feel her toes scraping against the chipped tile floor as the two men began to drag her motionless form somewhere. They went up a few steps, at least that's what it felt like, and when they stopped moving, they released the girl's body, falling for the last time. She dropped to her knees. Her face splashed into water. It was neither warm nor cold, but soothing to her injuries. It was like a slice of heaven on a perfect beach day, she thought.

Heaven wasn't complying though.

Without the energy to raise her head from the pool of mercy, her lungs damned her to keep on with her natural breathing. The girl inhaled without control and choked on water, drinking it in until it filled her lungs like a proud fish. She coughed, but this only lead to more water being drained into the pipe that was her throat, the well her soaked lungs. This was then she realized everything about her—her flesh, her brain, her blood, her fetal soul—could feel it. She was drowning. But she was too weak to rise her head out of the water, too damn weak to do a damned thing! The only acceptable excuse in her mind was that it just felt so refreshing after being abused. What a pathetic lie.

Her lungs were scratched and itching, no—_clawing _at the inside of her chest to breathe, but every inhale was filled with water. She was surrounded by infernal darkness, keeping her closed and cornered. She was blind; her mind became foggy and hazy.

She was dying. And she didn't give a damn. _But if I can slip into death this easily, I think I can accept it. _It was so peaceful and warm. The buzzing fury of sleep was taking over. She was happy. For once in her life, she could smile. She gave into it like a sick child needing their rest.

* * *

><p>Ichigo searched ravenously around—searching for anything that would bring him to a set of stairs to rescue Rukia. And right as he rounded the next corner, a dull gray door blocking a flight of stairs going up and down met him at the end of the hallway.<p>

Someone was definitely looking out for him today. He charged it.

A small directory next to the door had a red arrow pointing upwards to the upper 3rd level, laboratories 6-7- and -8 along with the word OFFICES 8—15 in neat bold letters. A green arrow pointed down to the 1st level, Machine Room 1 &2, laboratories 3-4-5, and one titled Enhancement Chamber.

Ichigo had a dreadful feeling Rukia was splattered somewhere in that room. He pressed the door handle down with excruciating caution in case an alarm rang out. It did not, and Ichigo booked it down the two flights of stairs like a bat out of hell.

The first floor was just as white as the first, but much larger in proportions. The walls had expanded at least a hundred feet on both sides of the stairwell, and there were no people. Thank God.

He hunted for the indication of where the panels of glass looked over the large laboratory.

Ichigo ran down the hall swiftly but quietly, his body on high alert for enemies and trouble. He passed an open door on his left and didn't bother to look in it. But the smell of iron wafted into his nostrils like being hit with the first cool breeze of summer. His eyes burst open as he recalled his peripheral vision catching hold of something within the room. He turned and ran back, skidding to a halt at the doorframe. He looked in and straight in front of him was a person slung over a large open barrel filled to the brim with crystal-clear water. Dampened dark hair smothered her neck.

His girlfriend was the one whose face was swallowed by Death.

_RUKIA!_

The sound of her name made her tearing eyes shoot open. Only when she finally started to drift off into the ultimate slumber, a sliver of hope bloomed in her heart. Did she really hear her name? It was being screamed by someone, but the sound waves were being distorted by her watery grave. _RUK-AH! _It was somewhere behind her. The voice seemed distant and far-off from this world. Lonely and haunted by ghosts. The voice was normally so strong and brave. She loved that rattled whiskey voice, but it seemed to have softened. Was it from panic or something? All she felt was fear from him—and it _was_ him. She wasn't hearing it from a memory or videotape. _Ichigo was finally next to her . . . ._

"Oh my God, Rukia! Can you hear me?"

Her face was carefully lifted out of the water for fear of a neck injury, and her unconscious body slumped into Ichigo's arms. He picked the girl up and brought Rukia's lifeless body to a place on the floor where there was more room. Of course, he feared of being found out, but he needed to make sure Rukia was alive. He placed her on the floor gently enough that a person would think that she was a priceless artifact worth millions. With Rukia's hands untied by now, she could almost feel them resting next to her body through her meditative state.

Ichigo called out to her, but it was terrifying. Rukia's face was paler than it had always been, and with the cut and smears of blood half-visibly clinging to her wet skin, it was a grisly sight. Her lips weren't blue or anything of the sort, but she was cold. Freezing. Her eyes remained shut. He could feel her resisting his calls to arise. He feared for her life.

"Rukia? Rukia! Oh God, please no, come on! Wake up!" He shook her by the shoulder. "_Rukia_!" Ichigo was panicking as he shook her shoulders again and also removed her soaked bangs away from her face. Her skin had grown colder within ten seconds, and the damaged breath leaving her diaphragm had finally stopped. _"Oh, no."_

_Look_. Something in the back of his mind made him glance left. A group of black monsters swarmed around Ichigo and tackled him like gigantic football players. Before he knew what had occurred, he had been subdued by five men all dressed in dark suits and sunglasses—_The freakin' Men In Black_—and dragged him away from Rukia. He shouted in rage and attempted to fight them off.

"RAH! LET ME GO! GET OFF OF ME, YOU BASTARDS!"

Someone smashed him across the face with their fist. Ichigo grunted loudly from the blow. His cheek split and drops of red leaked out on his tanned skin. He was lucky a tooth didn't break. "Shut him up with this," one of the men said as he pulled out a large syringe with an even longer needle filled with lime green liquid and handed it to his buddy.

Ichigo coughed and nearly slumped over as his sight flickered in and out. He was going to fall unconscious at any moment—he selfishly wished Rukia would awake, but they could both do nothing and could say nothing. There was nothing worse at this moment then knowing how this would end. He failed, and Rukia would die in the arms of these beasts. He gritted his teeth and roared from rage, bombarding the men with fierce pushes and snapping teeth.

_Click._

Contorted eyes a vacant shade of lilac pierced the world as they snapped open, awakening from the dead like a vampire ready to hunt. Blood was her first choice on the menu. Rasped breath left Rukia's mouth as her undead eyes rose upwards to the left, unable to see clearly from her position on the floor, but hearing Ichigo's struggling attempts to free himself clearly. They shifted; her eyes zeroed in on a tool she swore she had played with at some point here and smiled evilly.

The suit with the syringe squeezed out some liquid and kicked Ichigo in the solar plexus so he would stop struggling; Ichigo doubled over from the shock of his lungs suddenly unable to inhale or breathe. The four other men kept their hold on his body, even though it was completely unnecessary. Ichigo was incapacitated and struggled to move his lungs as his forehead rested on the floor.

"How the hell did he even get out?" one asked.

"Who cares?" another responded, "I just can't wait to see when he fights—"

All the men surrounding Ichigo froze like deer snapped awake by headlights when they saw a shadow come from Hell behind the man with the syringe. A lightening-eyed devil leaped up from behind, a crimson colored scythe slashing outward from behind her back as she focused all her rage into the man in front of her.

The man turned and raised an eyebrow just as Rukia screamed as if possessed and struck him across the right side of his neck, knocking him away with such force his neck snapped with a distorted crick. He fell away from her attack, but Death had already consumed his soul before the syringe could even erupt when the liquid and glass exploded on the floor. Her scythe seemed to disappear after that, being thrown into the dark after his captured spirit.

The men had been so awed by this disturbing feat that they weren't ready for Rukia's onslaught of rage.

As a few of the men in black suits began to get up, pulling out their guns, Rukia had already jumped on one of them, pushing him far back enough to crack his skull against a cement pillar and causing him to lose consciousness.

There was another jump from the demon girl and in a flash of white one of the men got an entire foot planted into his face. She may not have weighed much, but it was enough to knock the man's head back and snap it. Rukia used this to her advantage and sprung to another man almost directly behind this lifeless one, and attacked him with a roundhouse kick to the side of his neck when gravity dragged her back down to the right level.

This man who had dark brown hair had no chance and grunted when her furious blow landed, kicking him sideways with enough force to knock down a wall.

Even with the wind kicked out of him Ichigo noticed the hands on his body had dwindled, raised his head just enough to see what all the commotion was in front of him. His eyes widened and while on his knees he lifted his body fully. Only one man held on to him now, barely paying attention to Ichigo. Both just sat there dumbfounded and struck with shell shock while they watched Rukia take down every single opponent that stood in her way.

As these four men were crushed, two more arrived in their place from a back entrance where the two doctors had left to get coffee and doughnuts. They had come only to make sure those idiots hadn't killed the girl, but now _she _was the one killing everyone else!

"What?" one of the suits shouted as one of their men flew past him as if he were only a rag doll . . . or a baseball depending on the speed at which he was thrown.

He whipped a cell phone out of his pocket and was just about to press the numbers when a shot rang out and the Blackberry exploded in his hand. He screamed in pain when the bullet ended up blasting the phone into pieces and left a ragged and mauled hole directly through his hand. He grasped his singed flesh and cringed at the flame licking around his palm and the misery scorching his bones.

A sinister smile was on the small girl's lips as he saw the gun smoking and her mangled eye color defying all the natural laws of nature.

"_Bitch _. . ." he dropped to the ground from the intense pain leaking through his hand.

She cocked the gun and pulled back the trigger when another man the size of a bus screamed as he came out of nowhere and was about to throw a devastating punch to the back of Rukia's head. The only way to stop this girl was to knock her dead where the cerebellum sat. That way, all her coordination would seize.

"Rukia! Look out!" Ichigo screamed coming out of his stupor while still being held down.

He didn't see her eyes shift to the left to peak at the hulk charging her, but she swooped down just as the massive fist was about to crush her skull, delivering a mighty god-like kick between his legs.

With no pity for the man grabbing his crotch and sinking to the ground, Rukia gave him a taste of her own punch; an uppercut knocked him flat on his back.

Her unused bullet clipped him in the throat. Blood gurgled out as he attempted to say something, but he died with blood dribbling down his lip.

Rukia tossed the empty gun away and swung her head in Ichigo's direction. The man holding him down seemed frightened and she saw his shaking. A fang seemed to creep out of Rukia's lip at the sight of a startled rabbit, the predator-like prowess marvelous at the moment.

She walked over to where Ichigo was being held, the demonic fuel running her system about to hit its peak. The final man was noticeably sweating and did not wear sunglasses. "Don't come over here!" he shouted, causing Ichigo to wince slightly; the man had screamed next to his ear, the unpleasant vibration practically rupturing his eardrum. She did not listen, and she was about to jump him when he screamed, "Stop!"

Rukia paused as the younger man released Ichigo and ran up to her, whipping out a syringe with haste as he appeared unconfident with his choice of action.

Rukia evaded this idiot's attempt to stick her with the needle easily, using a phasing block, grabbing the syringe and jabbing it into his own neck until the tip of plastic hit his skin. She pressed the liquid into his own veins. The tall man made a wearied noise as a hand fluttered up to his neck, and collapsed with Rukia's assisting push.

With all the men fallen, Rukia closed her eyes and brought a hand to her face. Ichigo watched her stagger and fall herself before comprehending that he could move freely. He rushed to her side and put an arm around her shoulder; she was on her knees and appeared to have fallen asleep. He tenderly shook her, unsure of what to expect from Rukia next.

He spoke her name with a whispery tone, about to pick her up and run when Rukia moaned. It sounded like the whine of a baby when fingers slowly curled around the dyed fabric of his shirt and blinked her eyes tight before lifting them open gracefully like the wings of a monarch. Eyes the color of an ocean drifting in and out of a dream looked around feebly before noticing the man holding her in his arms.

She had to blink again. "_Ichigo_?" Her voice sounded like broken glass being crushed by a bulldozer.

But a sweet smile rarely seen lit up her world. Her heart felt like it had been locked within a freezer for so long, but now that he was here the burn melted off. His swirled caramel eyes and dark lashes mirrored the emotion that she felt drifting off of his smile, his body. His lips—when did he start growing facial hair?—pulled back into an even wider smile. "Hey."

"What?" Rukia groaned and pressed her hand back to her forehead, hiding her eyes away from him. She had a sudden pang mixed between a headache and the sensation that she may vomit whatever drugs were in her body.

Ichigo released his hold on her. "You alright?" He was concerned, and she smiled back at him.

But fate wouldn't let her talk.

A screeching alarm rang out making their hearts almost leap out of their chests from fear as the glow of blinding, bloody red lights streaked across their bodies while plastic-encased lights spun.

They jumped to their feet, adrenaline pumping.

Ichigo led the way out the door. "Are you all right?" he shouted as they began to run—where to was anyone's guess, but they needed to get out of that place now! "Can you run okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Rukia said bitterly through a raging voice.

"This is terrible, you're covered in bruises," he muttered with pain in his voice; his care for her at the moment made her want to blush.

"I'm _fine_," she lied, her ankle aching with each step and her face extremely sore, even after her "beauty treatment" in the vat of water. "Looks like you got beat too, dummy."

"How the hell did you do that?!" Ichigo yelled over the scream of the alarm, never ceasing to run forward.

"What are you talking about?" Rukia actually sounded confused.

"Huh?" Ichigo looked over at her. "You mean you actually don't remember?"

"_What don't I remember_?!" she responded in a freaked tone.

As they were about to run down a hallway, the door at the end burst open and filled with men in black suits. Guns had been drawn. "_Looks like this'll have to wait_." Their feet skidded to a halt and bolted back in the opposite direction they had just come from, barely missing being hit by their chivalrous weaponry. Rukia yelled from shock as a bullet lodged itself into the wall where her head had been only seconds before. They took a sharp right turn, Rukia's feet slipping on the floor. Their vivacious speed slowed down the clock once more, and could not tell where their momentum had come from. Everything scorched past their faces. Their strength to keep moving had an authoritative presence, and the men behind could not keep up. But if their aim was freedom, they were going to need a miracle.

Ichigo swerved into a hard left, snapping his hand out to grab Rukia's wrist before she went the wrong direction, and pulled her towards him. He did _not _need her to run the wrong way. She was thrown into his chest from the momentum, but it gave them a second to breathe and think. Ichigo put a hand on top of her head, inhaling deeply what should have been left of her perfume.

He smelled nothing clinging to her wet hair. It made enough sense: it died the same day they were brought here.

Rukia panted into his chest. "Where . . . do we . . . go now?" she said in between breaths.

"I don't know," Ichigo replied anxiously, his ears picking up the sounds of sprinting feet and searching voices from farther away. "I don't know what we can do, but we out ran them at the moment."

"This is it, isn't it? We're dead," she said hopelessly, shaking her head with defeat. "We are so dead."

"Don't say that!" he snapped in a sharp whisper, never wanting to hear those words. "We're not done for yet! We still have time!"

"Time? Our hour glass is about to run out! Ichigo, this is no time for heroic idiocy! We need a plan—a miracle! We need to get out of here." She turned her head, hearing the beating footsteps getting closer.

An escape? How? They could only run on foot for so long before having the final drops of their energy drained. _How could they get out . . . ? _

Ichigo's eyes lit up with an idea. _Those keys he had found . . . _"Follow me!" He shoved open a door next to where they had been breathing, Rukia stammering slightly, and following as fast as she could while spiraling downwards into the dark. An echo boomed behind them as the door closed. A sign next to the door read: A level. Garage.

It was a dark garage, the smell of dried oil and fresh gasoline mixed as one unit of drunken headaches only a dull fragrance in the background. There was no door leading into the garage, but that was fine with him. Ichigo had pulled out the keys while sprinting down the stairs.

He pressed the button; a loud double chirp came from fifty or so feet away from them. Their heads swung towards the noise, and they both ran, hearts racing—_pounding_—their only intention for the safety of the vehicle. As they ran, Rukia had to look twice to really give their target a clear, straight look. It was a dark purple sports vehicle, a near midnight blue with glistening silver rims encasing the tires, the rampaging bull at the center of the rims, and twin, long black stripes centered in the middle stretching all the way from the rear to the front of the car. It was made with a sleek design, aerodynamic and ready for top speed. Tinted black windows hid what lay inside. And that symbol on the front, so realistic but still seeming to be unreal at this time and place. It was a fantasy ride for the wealthy, a car collector's ultimate dream.

"_A_ _Lamborghini?"_ she yelled as they slowed to a halt next to the hot rod.

"Yeah," Ichigo said breathless as his eyes sparkled from the sight of it. The look on his face was brighter than a child's on Christmas morning. He laughed with suppressed joy. "Damn. I knew the keys were to something nice, but I never imagined a Lamborghini. I can't believe I would ever forget that symbol." He spoke the words enthusiastically, and by looking at him, Rukia couldn't help the solemn look and small smile on her lips. A hidden bruise on the corner of her mouth tainted her happiness with a wince however.

"THERE THEY ARE!"

That one joyful moment was torn from their faces as the black suits and sleek silver handguns flew down the stairs after them, cocking their guns, ready to fire.

Ichigo hit the button again by mistake, but the doors to the Lamborghini swung upwards so they could enter, and they jumped inside. The downward _swoosh _of the wings closing them in hummed with a futuristic thrum.

No time for safety or seatbelts, Ichigo forced the key into the ignition, turning it roughly. The sensual purring was a turn on, and with a triumphant grin etched into his face, he reared it into drive, speeding past their enemies and gawking stares. Apparently they had never seen a Lamborghini in action either.

If this had been a convertible, they would have had to grab their hats from the unexpected speed that naturally flowed from the car. Pressing the petal to the floor, the car leapt forward with a enormous roar. Ichigo had nearly missed hitting a Jaguar en route to the exit, a fierce swerve left knocking Rukia into passenger's side door. The power of the car was amazing, the speed was delicious, the all-leather interior and steering wheel were like sex on fire. He loved this vehicle to death, and it had only been in his hands for less than twenty seconds. But the power was what mainly drove him to grin with pleasure. The eccentric sports car twisted and turned around the levels, thundering over the cement. His eyes shifted around every turn, making sure these freaks wouldn't try to ram into the Lambo from a hidden crack and kill them both. Rukia might've had the same idea and strapped herself in after she slammed into the door.

With a sign indicating the exit, Ichigo revved the engine in full throttle and charged forward like the bull on the hood ornament. He felt the speed from the all-wheel drive thrusting them onward, and all was finally looking up until they saw who blocked the end of the straightway. Ichigo slammed on the breaks, jerking the car to a halt.

A thousand feet away, thirty plus men stood in front of the exit. Ichigo glared at them. He could have run right through them, but they were armored to the teeth. And he wasn't too sure if this car had been specially equipped with armor plating. Plus, who would want _blood stains _on a Lamborghini? Not the best way to ruin one of the most expensive cars in the world.

"_Oh, great_. What do we do now?" he snarled, cursing at the men blocking their exit.

Rukia sighed, drawing her eyes away from the overbearing force meant to foreshadow their quickly-coming future. She looked down, her eyes nearly glassing over from stressful tears being born. All hope was lost. They didn't even stick their foot out the door. Their fingers could barely curl around the lid of the coffin before it closed and locked down on them. She looked past Ichigo's tensing body to the seat behind them. What the hell were they going to—

A shimmer.

There was a glint on the backseat, her eyes enlarging to an abnormal measurement. With a better focus, there were more glints and gleams emerging from the backseat of the Lamborghini. How was this possible?

"Ichigo . . . _look_. . . ."

He turned to her, an eyebrow raised. Confused, he followed her line of sight to the backseat where she was mesmerized by something. His darkened amber eyes snapped open from the presence of God and opportunity hiding behind their backs. They grew with the amazement of absolute sheer luck that bestowed itself upon the two.

Even in the low light surrounding the vehicle, anyone could distinguish the shapes carved to murderous perfection.

Guns. There were at least twenty-or-so guns within reach behind them and laying on the floor in a burlap sack. Long. Short. Numerous handguns, a shotgun, two Colt Magnums, a Smith & Wesson, even something that looked similar to an Uzi just sat there, innocently waiting to be used. Literally handing themselves over to Ichigo and Rukia so they would be able to escape.

And kill all that stood in their way.

A smile that could have been mistaken for a spark of insanity glowed on Ichigo's face. He laughed when another idea hit him. "Well, what d'ya know?" he glanced at Rukia happily, a dark glare in his rich eyes, she looking back at him worry stricken, stress coating the nerves in her face. Her lips were a thin line, quivering slightly.

She felt an eerie sensation tingle throughout her entire body when their eyes didn't disconnect from one another. Something was going to happen.

* * *

><p>Every man that stood before the garage exit held a gun and had it pointed at the Lamborghini. The consistent sound of guns cocking and ready to be fired when need be reflected the unsteady shuffling of their feet. Ready to strike at a moment's notice, they were all raised and poised perfectly. They could not fail.<p>

They had surrounded them—there was no chance in hell of them escaping, and there was no doubt.

Although, the last person who had attempted an escape nearly killed every man trying to stop him. He was deadly. However the Boss halted his pursuit with a bullet to the crown of his forehead. The men still questioned in their own minds whether they _would _give themselves up. They might as well—thirty men with at least twenty bullets a piece raining down on them would equal a Bonnie and Clyde scenario. There would be blood and gore everywhere. It would suck to clean up, too.

But it was not what their Boss had ordered over the intercom.

"_What's taking them so damn long?" _one muttered. Everyone was in an irritated, foul mood.

Did these defectors have a plan? How could they, there was nothing of use in the car except for maybe the seat belt, but only if it was cut. Maybe the girl could throw the car manual at someone's head for entertainment.

With the Lambo still purring, the headlights gazed at the exit knowing what it wanted, a glazed and milky color glowing on the men's dark suits. The car looked like it was about to konk out out of boredom.

With a acknowledged _tsk_, one man with a platinum blond coif was bold enough to step forward, never moving his gun away from the place in front of him. He screamed the obvious, "Come out! You can't escape from us!" He paused for effect. "There's only one exit outta here, and if you decide to try something funny, you'll be dead before you even see the face of the man who killed you! If you stay in the car, we'll shoot and kill you anyway!"

There were some short, quick breaths and shifty eyes as silence took over the garage once more. The Lamborghini continued to rattle with life and seemed to rev even louder than before. It could have been growling at him like a hungry beast or starving coyote salivating at all the fresh meat available, but he would never fear a car, no matter how exotic it was.

A jumpy looking man in his late twenties with wavy brown hair was about to say something when the purr of the engine stalled and turned off. All the men behind the platinum blond's muttered in a thunderstruck symphony. As if the exhorted threat actually phased through and seeped into their brains, the driver's side door swung up.

A black heel and boot stepped out of the hot rod, covered in black jeans. The other leg followed in pursuit, the man just sitting there taking his time. Hair the color of a sunburst and a scornful glowering appeared around the opening, staring down the bastards in his way. His lip curled, and he seemed to have hissed at the men.

Mr. Blond Coif smirked and even lowered his gun a tad.

"Come on, step out of the car. _Slowly_."

Ichigo rolled his dark eyes and forced himself out of the Lamborghini. And it wasn't slowly either. He stood facing forward just out of reach of the door's downward swing, showing the boys in charge he wouldn't jump back into it any time soon. He stared at Mr. Blond's curled coif with an irked attitude, his hands in his jacket pockets.

"Come on, sweetie, show us your hands." He jerked his gun at the test subject as a gesture to do what he said. Ichigo scowled harder and slowly raised both of his open palms by his face, showing nothing to the black suits.

"_Good_. Get the girl," the man muttered to another with blond hair.

Before they could even try to move there was a large, burning fiery explosion on the opposite side of the garage from where the men were standing. An oblivious freestanding gas canister had blown and turned into the pits of Hell as flames sparked up and trailed the river of gasoline spilling across the floor. A _tink _had been heard before the eruption occurred by the leader of the pack—a stray bullet had been the cause of the disaster!

"_Who fired that?" _the blond coiffed man shouted over the roar of twisting flames. Some of the men jumped back in fear and covered their faces when another explosion generated enough heat to melt their skin off. This canister was adjacent to where they were standing, another _tink _heard before it ruptured. The entangled flames caused some men to scatter in search of water buckets or a fire hose to tame the beast. The leader stared at the oncoming monster—it was going to burn the whole building down if the men didn't do something fast! And with all the other cars and gasoline lying around, this would soon become a nuclear war zone. "_Stop the fire, now!" _

Ichigo had been ignored this entire time, his strong black silhouette the only design visible in front of the noxious blaze burning lustrously behind him.

The explosion swept Ichigo's lengthened hair around his face. It seemed as if he had barely noticed, melting heat and all. A dangerous glint slid into his eye and he grinned like a feral cat while staring down his opponents as they dispersed in order to fight the torrid wrath of fire. Ichigo whipped out the two Colt Magnum handguns from behind his back and automatically started shooting at the thirty or so men standing in his way.

Three men grunted as they dropped dead to the ground without so much as an official final thought to make their lives memorable. The single bullets put into each man had been rammed into their hearts.

Another few men were killed before the suits remembered who the hell they were dealing with, and as fire extinguishers fought the overbearing fury of scorching flames with a vengeance, they officially began their own assault back at Ichigo.

Bullets flew in all directions. They shot at each other, the men taking cover behind parked cars. How they could be so stupid as to _completely forget_ one of the most important people in the room was bewildering. The test subject had a sharp eye and perfect aim; he was nearly as good as their sharp-shooter, a man who had been with the company since the start. And the Doctors had been right, he was a callous fighter with no weakness at the sight of blood.

Ichigo tilted his head to the side as a bullet streaked a flash of wind by his naked flesh. He confronted this attack without yield and shot this man in the shoulder, disarming him fiercely. Ichigo was down to his last bullets, but he smiled, knowing something the bastards didn't.

A white smoking explosion burst into the air behind the Lamborghini, causing another distraction. As men turned to see what this was, they scrambled as Ichigo walked forward fearlessly firing his remaining rounds. Rukia had burst out of the smoke speeding across the floor on a creeper, a skateboard-type tool used to assist mechanics under a vehicle. With her sudden appearance the men never expected it. They never thought she would have the guts to even attempt to fight them in her condition. But there she was, shooting rounds out of her nine millimeter handgun like her partner and hitting her targets perfectly.

Rukia smirked. She dove off the creeper before it smashed into the bleeding flames, rolling until she landed on her knees. She had managed to take down ten men. Several more had been wounded, and they spread around cautiously, using other cars and support beams for cover, all while dodging Ichigo's impressive aim. Rukia stood and shot angrily at the men blocking their way.

When Ichigo heard the clicking of the gun, he cursed and threw himself behind a cement support beam, picking bullets out of his jacket pockets while the shots continued. Rukia did a similar motion as he, hiding behind a pillar to catch her breath. But when Ichigo closed up the gun he gave a sharp nod to Rukia, and they both curved their bodies around the beams, firing at the men they loathed so much.

They stepped out in front of their enemies as a declaration they would never retreat or hinder to anyone. Some of the men were stunned while others were unfazed by their shallow confidence. They fired nonetheless, making sure to take better cover as Ichigo Kurosaki and Rukia Kuchiki came closer.

While others effortlessly tried to contain the devious fire, they shot back at Rukia and Ichigo, aiming at their legs or shoulders, any part of the body that would be able to subdue them without killing them. But every impelling shot missed their targets. The two test subjects had an aura surrounding them that refused any entry to their skin. They continued to walk forward and stormed the floor with their minimal artillery and nearly perfect aim. Only a few of their bullets hadn't hit a man, but shots that missed were either flukes or just damn good luck for the men that they hid behind something in time.

But then there was a sudden excitement that had the men go into an even deeper panic. Ichigo pulled out a ten inch blade from somewhere inside his jacket and held it under Rukia's jugular, her eyes flying wide. Her shot missed the man she was aiming for, hitting empty air. Ichigo's arm snaked around her body, clutching her to his own vehemently. He held the Colt Magnum in front of Rukia, smiling satanically at the men frozen to shock. He was significantly taller than she, so overpowering her was easy, even with the gun in her hand. His eyes did not look right, weren't they supposed to be dirt brown or something? Rukia dropped her own gun as her hands went to the knife around her throat. She said something to Ichigo, but he chose to not listen, and his devil-smile deepened. He pressed the blade to her neck, she crying out.

"Crap!" one of the men snarled as he stood, putting the idea that Ichigo's gun was pointing directly at him out of his mind. The jumpy kid with wavy brown hair had managed to avoid getting shot and was next to this hot-blooded man from the South. He was talking to himself, but it put the kid on edge more than he already was. "He's not supposed to kill her. If he kills her, we're all screwed! She's not supposed to die!" More men stood revealing themselves.

Ichigo stepped forward with Rukia as a shield, knowing he was making the suits fear for her safety. _But why? _he thought. His scowl returned, cocking the gun and turned it until the muzzle aimed towards her stomach.

A string of curses and casualties of the word "No" waved across the floor. Rukia whimpered pathetically at hearing these worried sounds. A hand slipped down from the hilt of the knife to the hard bone of his hip. Her palm pushed at his encased skin, wanting to engulf it in her warmth, trying to revive his mind. Her hand drifted lower until it hid behind her leg. "_Ichigo, please . . . _"

A hard shove sent the girl flying, but the men stopped themselves from overreacting, for the gun had not gone off nor a stream of blood flew from her neck.

"Rukia, _now!"_

She pulled something out from behind her back and screamed when she threw it to the ground. White dust erupted like a blizzard, clouding over Ichigo and Rukia like fog. Smoke enveloped their bodies into ash, perfectly concealing them from view. Several remaining suits raged forward as pawns and managed to surround the puff of smoke. They shot into it, not caring whether they lived or died or how badly reprimanded they would be by their boss, and waited for their bodies to fall.

But an electric shock of bright lightening sparked throughout the rivets in the enormous cloud, dazzling the company men into shock. A flash-bang coated the room with a ridiculous amount of light and energy, bringing the word disorienting to an entire new level. Many ended up falling over from the intensity of the white light, and then darkness consumed them as they finally went blind. They dropped their guns with an attempt to rub sight back into their disillusioned orbs, sinking to the ground when a smell hit their nostrils and became unconscious soon after.

"_Shit_!" Mr. Blond coif luckily hadn't been standing directly in front of the defectors flash bang, but spots blurred his vision while hiding behind an old Chevy Impala. He had been wounded by one of Rukia's bullet's cutting through the sleeve of his black jacket. The cut wasn't deep enough to be lethal, but it would need stitches, and was bleeding profusely. He couldn't fire his own gun without making a mess.

He gritted his teeth. All his men were practically dead, the ones not putting out the fire at least. The test subjects had disappeared into the smoke, and now he was blind. And they still needed backup. As he released his hand from his bloodied bicep, he dug into his jacket for his cell phone, but stopped when hearing a roar unlike any other.

The screeching of tires speeding from 0 to 60 miles per hour in three seconds made him drop his phone. A blur whipped by the Impala, making the man feel as if he had just gotten a glimpse of The Flash.

The car exploded out of the exit, the revving heard from all around as it sped off into the middle of the woods on the privately paved road. It evaporated into the shadows of giant coniferous trees and was gone. The man gave a unavoidable whistle. He never got a glance at the Lamborghini in action until today, and it was incredible.

It was just after 5:00 in the morning. This was going to be a _long_ miserable day.

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><p><strong>Comments appreciated please!<strong>


	3. The Other Side

**Fun fact, a big chunk of the chapter was written when I was bored out of my mind in my history class while still in high school. Oh well; education or fanfiction? I'll go with fanfiction (:**

**Bruno Mars ~ Doo-wops & Hooligans**

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><p>The sound of clacking heels against a tiled floor gave off an echo of unthrilled movement. It was fast paced and rushed, the gentleman hurrying to get to wherever he was going. It was only 10 a.m. but he had been wide awake for hours, surprisingly without coffee. He was wearing a fairly stylish black suit, rolling back his white sleeves against the dark fabric to check his cuff links, making sure they looked decent. When that was done, he smoothed down his skinny tie, then his collar, and bickered random nonsense. To be honest, this man couldn't give a shit what his boss thought about him, but the pay was good, and he personally thought the suits weren't bad on him either. Even if his style was more laid back and rocker chic.<p>

And he did really like his job. Some days. This wasn't one of them.

Besides mimicking his boss's infuriated voice under his breath, barking at him to get to his office before he fired his "Sorry, pathetic ass," the man really didn't know what was going on or why he had to be there now.

Turning down a white-walled corridor, his long, unnaturally bright red hair was noticed by another person waiting outside of a fairly large, glossy silver door. His eyes had moved up from the thick packet of papers in his thin hand, the glint from his rectangular glasses signaling interest. "Abarai. It's about time you showed up."

The man with red hair hadn't even noticed the other person waiting for him outside the door. He was too busy with himself. But his eyes snapped up to the opposite man when he mentioned his name.

This guy was literally the smartest man in the entire building, and he was only about twenty-five. He had jet black hair with pointed tips that surrounded his angular face, stopping just past his chin. His gray suit was accompanied by a red tie, making him look like the official spokesperson for wealthy business moguls. Uryû Ishida was the head of the science and surgical departments, and kept all records and files in check at all times. In essence, he was perfect. Many men were jealous of his skills and his keen intellect. Uryû was clever, and knew everything about anything. The only unfortunate fun-facts about him were that he basically knew more than a master seamstress and was quote/unquote "gay." However true that was was questionable on many levels, and he honestly didn't believe that rumor.

The red haired man scowled, waving a hand. "Yeah, yeah. I'm here, aren't I?"

Uryû frowned. "Don't take your anger out on me, Renji. I was in the middle of something important, too, when I got the call." His gray eyes roamed around randomly and stopped at the other man's head.

He smirked. "Nice shades."

Renji's curiosity of what he meant was hit by the realization that he was still wearing his sunglasses. The department he had been working in was covered with blinding lights, so he needed them. And the fact that it was a really nice day outside helped with the decision of taking a much needed three-hour cigarette break. No harm right? Then that's when he got the phone call—

Wait . . . did Ishida just make a crack at him?

Renji's brow furrowed as the other chuckled under his breath at his coworker's dumb expression. "Screw you, four eyes."

"I am _so_ offended," he replied sarcastically, getting a growl from the other.

Renji huffed as Uryû continued to snicker slightly, a smug smirk on his young face.

Renji groaned and leaned against the wall opposite of where Ishida was standing, propping a foot on it. It jiggled up and down agitatedly while they waited in silence.

"So, any idea why the Boss wants to see us?" he asked Uryû, driving his hands deep into his pants pockets.

"Not a clue," he responded, shaking his head and flipping through the pages of his overtly large packet. "He wouldn't tell me anything. This must be really serious." Another flip of a page. "He's never excluded anything of vital importance from me before this."

"Well, aren't you special?"

"Jealousy is nothing but contrite."

"Pfft. _Unless your butt buddies_," he whispered under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Oh, _nothing_," he brushed of casually, flashing a sharp-toothed smile.

Uryû frowned, narrow eyes battering him with disgust as Renji—completely knowing he was getting under Ishida's skin and loving it—found a hair band in his pocket and decided to make his hair less unseemly.

While watching Renji play with his hair like a fourteen-year-old girl, Uryû couldn't help but mention about it. "Why don't you give that hair to charity, or something?"

Renji stopped and thought for a quick second. "Because no one wants it," he stated. "It's too red, to "loud" I guess. No one on my mother's side has red hair. And my father doesn't exactly have Irish blood in him either," he ended sarcastically. He pulled his hair tight against the band, leaving it to stand in a high ponytail, and leaving Uryû's new questions at a halt.

The door in between finally slid open, allowing the two men entrance to the office. Ishida pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, Renji removing himself from the wall with an audible groan. "_Here we go . . ."_

They walked into the extraordinarily large office, their eyes adjusting to the dim lighting. Renji slid his sunglasses back on, the light in this room always bothering his eyes. He also liked to say that the Boss's intense aura always blinded him when entering this room, but the lighting really just sucked.

Their boss was sitting at his over-the-top, large oak desk, his back facing the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that met the edge of the evergreen forest. They acknowledged his interest in the environment, and respected the idea of having natural lighting within these walls. Most of the private offices had the same unique feature, and would become dark along with the night sky when the time came. Only then would the hanging lights overhead flicker on with life. Or at least when someone really needed to see what they were working on, but there was a hidden monitor in each room, making sure there would be no electricity or energy wasted for stupid reasons.

He held many papers in each hand, files spread across his desk with hundreds more papers scattered about. His head switched from one hand to the other, picking apart pieces of information in the logs and reports personally written and made for him. The slanted lighting in the room made his hair look darker than its natural hue, his black reading glasses glinting when the two figures walked towards him.

Keeping space between them and the almighty desk, Renji and Uryû didn't know what to expect from this man.

Papers slammed onto the oak and spilled over the others. He glanced up at them with no emotion or hint of a smile. He was pissed. "Gentlemen. Thank you for coming on such short notice."

"It was no trouble, sir," Ishida started with a light smile, sucking up to his Master, Renji trying not to blanche.

"Yeah, same here," Abarai said, hands in his suit pockets this time.

"Sir, I have all the information you needed," Ishida added by raising his book manuscript to his chest, but got no indication that he was heard.

Their boss tossed the remaining papers back onto his desk with defeat, rubbing at his eyes and trying to soothe the strain within them. Ishida noticed some pictures and profiles of the people his boss was looking at, their files open and torn apart as if he was searching for answers to something he wanted. Although the contents were exposed, he couldn't exactly see the images clearly from this distance. A majority were in black and white, but he thought he had seen the girl somewhere before.

The Boss removed his reading glasses and placed them aside. He put his elbow on his mighty desk, fingers jammed to his temple, lost in thought for several moments. Then he spoke again. "Renji . . . Uryû . . . there are some things we need to discuss. Very _important _things about the future of this company. No, please stay where you are. I actually recommend that you don't sit. Lights."

Renji and Uryû looked up as the room went black, wondering where the lights even were to begin with.

The clicking shuffle of a projector overhead rattled a bit before it finally warmed up.

"The Enhancement Chamber." Light burst from its lens and focused images blared strongly; pictures lit up from a screen in the corner of the room. Several showed the destruction left behind by an unknown source. As slides moved forward, one image stood out. A red scythe was sticking out of a body in the upper-right corner of the image, a man incapacitated by a syringe face down on the floor, unaware that a picture was being taken.

Renji slid his sunglasses back onto his head as their eyes widened from these incriminating images.

The picture slid into another. One man's body was slumped as it laid against a pillar, another's contorted as his neck twisted the wrong direction. It'd been snapped by a devilish blow.

Several more gruesome reflections of disaster made bits of Uryû's and Renji's stomachs turn, even if they were grown men.

At last, the reel of disease ridden pictures ended, and warm artificial lights brought the room's dim lighting back to what it originally was when the projector shut off. They turned back to the head executive, he folding his hands upon his desk, eyes intently on them.

"One of the men can no longer use his left hand as he used to. A bullet sliced through too many tendons and muscle, according to one of our doctors. He is no longer expendable. How the bullet managed to create a clean sweep is still being investigated. As for the other six, one is unconscious, three are dead with another on the way, and one is still knocked out from a shot.

"And this is just the beginning. There was a very large explosion in the garage early this morning, around 5:00 a.m. A gasoline can ruptured . . . from a bullet."

"What?" Uryû said dismayed, the packet of papers being placed by his side.

Renji started forward. "What do you mean there was an explosion? I drove in just before five, and the garage was fine! What the hell happened?" Another thing hit him. "Is my car alright?" he added with a nervous tick.

"Your Mercedes was not hurt, along with all the other,_ more _expensive cars, luckily," his Boss answered calmly, Renji irritated by the way he had answered his question—like his car hadn't been worth more than something used from a junk yard.

Their boss went on: "The most important things we lost weren't cars."

"What are you saying, sir?" Uryû's eyes blazed with a worried notion in mind. How serious was this situation that they had been called in for?

The crash of doors splitting open from behind had all eyes drawn to that direction quickly as an unwanted guest arrived.

"_Ohhh_, sorry I'm late, Boss," a curving, coherent echo said as it bounced into the room, uncaring of whatever issue was happening right now, or what he might have just interrupted.

A man with an appealing dark blue suit walked into the room without a care, his strides long and took only seconds for him to stand beside Renji. "So, what did I miss?"

"I was just telling Renji and Uryû about the incentive for the occurrence of today's disaster in the garage, Mr. Ichimaru. Along with other troubles within my company. I would have liked if you were actually here to see the result of what has happened instead of sitting on your ass and taking your sweet time." There was no smile or warm-hearted greeting, just a cup of ice.

"I apologize, Sir. There were . . . _eh_, _certain things _I needed to take care of first." He ended with a bright smile that had his two co-workers grimacing from the side. Then a chipper tone of voice piped up with: "So, which one of them escaped?"

Uryû and Renji stiffened, yelling with a synchronized, "_What?" _

They glanced at each other and exchanged nervous mutters.

"You don't think it was . . . ?"

"You don't think he would try again, do you?"

"No. It's not the one you're thinking of," their boss answered, making his men turn back towards the head of the company. Sitting straight, he continued. "He knows better now anyway. He knows better than to ever cross that threshold ever again."

"Yeah! Where's he off to again?" the newcomer asked curiously.

"Somewhere in Alaska, Gin. He's been working on finding a woman for me. She owes the company some money for organ transplants that we never received. No money, no heart." He gave a glance at his Rolex wristwatch, wondering how much longer this meeting would be, but referencing in a way to what time they all had left. "Her time's running short if he ever gets his hands on her. Which will be soon, I hope. Alaska may be big, but he'll hunt her down in a matter of days."

"I don't see why you should worry so much about it, sir." Gin, a slightly young looking man somewhere either in his early or mid 30's (it was hard to tell) now spoke, his voice sliding around each word in a crafty cheerful slither, very close to giving off the idea of a snake speaking itself. "You'll get your money. And you'll get your test subjects back again. It may take a while, but once they're back, they'll be more _obedient _this time."

"I don't worry," the Boss said with finality. "I just want what's owed to me."

_Test subjects . . . ._ Uryû had been going over the images from the Enhancement Chamber and the key words being tossed back and forth between the group. The riddle was slightly baffling, not understanding who murdered the men and caused the calamity in the garage. None of their other thirteen test subjects were, quite frankly, kind to one another, so it wouldn't be any tag-team event. Then the two files on the desk, dim lighting in the room concealing their faces. Finally, the wires in Ishida's mind fit the puzzle together; he realized where he had seen the image of the girl on the Boss's table before. He had performed a minor surgery on her body nearly eight weeks earlier. The fact that she was also a very petite woman helped confirm his memory.

He started slow, a little apprehensive of what he was about to reveal. "These test subjects. They were the two people you just acquired two months ago. They were the ones meant to . . ." Uryû paused, thinking. "Kurosaki and—"

"So what if we can't get them back?" Renji asked, interrupting Uryû abruptly, not exactly meaning to cut him completely off, but he wanted some answers to what the hell was going on. Plus, he was only half listening now because of Gin's nonsense. He was oblivious to Ishida's miffed glare.

"That is _not _an option," the Boss said fiercely, his iced tongue lashing out the words like a blizzard.

"Sir, we've worked together for a very long time now. I know you to _always_ have a plan." The man whose sly face expressed more expression than a devious fox hinted at bit of sarcasm.

"Don't give me that, Gin," the Boss snarled. "Renji's worked for me just as long as you have, and you know it," he added, his glaring eyes cold.

The younger man with gray-white hair shrugged his shoulders and just continued to smirk at his boss happily, enjoying the show playing out before him.

The Boss almost wanted to grind his teeth down into his skull from these buffoons who he relied on so much. Though he remained cool, calm, and collected every waking moment of the day, today he was allowing himself to be livid and out of character. "_Dammit!_ You men are clueless!" he roared. "The point of this damned business meeting is to tell you what is going on! Not about who's where or how to eternally piss me off! The damaged they've caused, they took out an elite team of _over thirty _men by themselves with weapons they acquired from an unknown source! And that was _only _after the _second _explosion causing part of the building to be engulfed in flames. I want to know where the hell they got those weapons, how they escaped, and who's behind it!" The Boss thumped his iron fist on the pictures of the defectors, hoping they would feel his hatred at this moment. "They've left me one hell of a mess to clean up when they should still be sedated and unconscious! And to top it all off, the 2009 Gallardo was hot-wired!

"Do you know what this means?"

There was no response.

He growled in an enraged tone. "That Lamborghini they stole cost _over four hundred and fifty thousand dollars!_" he roared at their straight faces. The Boss stood up and smacked his palms down on his enormous desk, hunched over with fury in his dark eyes. His shaggy dark bangs fell over the eyes which caused so much grief, but the intense aura boiling off of him was hard to miss. "Who the hell was in charge of putting the tracker on it anyway?" His only response was silence. "_Well?"_

"Sir, I can honestly say that none of us are responsible for this happening," Uryû tried to smooth over coolly. If their boss was going to try and blame one of them, he might as well try to calm him down. He cleared his throat before continuing. "I believe—"

"Wasn't Shiba the one who took care of things like this?" Gin questioned casually, the happy smirk sinking into his lips even more than earlier.

Their Boss hissed loudly at the bullshit reply before sitting back down in his leather chair, head shaking and teeth bared.

"I DON'T CARE WHOSE FAULT IT WAS! TWO OF MY MOST IMPORTANT TEST SUBJECTS ARE GONE, DAMMIT!"

His fist slammed down hard enough to make them all cringe slightly. If the table had been made of glass, it would have shattered under his wrath. "And you let them get away!"

"On the contrary, Sir, I believe we may still have an advantage," Uryû Ishida said after the tension in the air had dispersed.

"Oh?" he mocked with slight curiosity. "And just what is that?"

"I don't know if anyone has told you," he flipped through some papers in his hand, "but the implantation was successful." His eyes drifted across each word as he read the data on the papers to his boss: "The girl is around seven weeks pregnant, and so far from what we can tell, the fetus has been growing steadily. And last time we checked—which was three days ago—everything looked good. It's healthy."

The other two men watched out of the corners of their eyes as Ishida told their boss about the important facts, Renji actually hearing about this for the first time. Gin still had the annoyingly perky attitude, but obviously knew something similar to this information.

The Boss took in a deep breath and sighed it out, placing his fingers to his temple again, trying to rub away the oncoming headache and trying to think about what to do next. The stone-cold façade was starting to be a bitch. He turned his chair to the tinted glass windows, looking in the distance for a much wanted answer. The forest outside surrounded his company for miles, with tall pine trees giving pretty good cover for nosy people and curious eyes. This place wasn't even on a map, and he made sure to keep it that way. Hell, it wasn't even on Google Earth. That had cost a fair amount of money, and using the word loosely didn't even begin to cover it.

He tilted his head and looked out of the corner of his eye back into his office.

His three most important and favorite top employees were standing still, watching their chief overlord in silence. They wouldn't dare say a thing more to him unless questioned, and if one of them took a bullet to the head right now he bet the other two still wouldn't move. Faith was a fallacy, and their lives depended on it. Trust was fallible, but ironically mandatory. Each had worked extremely hard for him for endless days and years, even though he knew that he treated them like shit at certain times, but they were still valuable assets.

Uryû was brilliant and so resourceful that everything seemed to fall into complete perfection whenever he was around. Escorting this, when he was in charge of his department everything was always put to perfection. It had to be. Ishida would accept nothing less.

Renji was a skilled fighter, even though his bitter attitude was a pain in the ass at times, and he was good at manipulating people. Acting was a bonus for him too, for he had been on several other assignments in the past where he had to be able to gain another person's trust. His reverse psychology was flawless. Along with this, he was a pretty damn good liar. It was a valuable skill, and he had trained well in this field. His sharp eyes could give him away at times, but the other person never noticed. Women also seemed to be charmed by him. Or, at least charmed by the persona he gave off when performing.

As for Gin, he knew how to get under your skin. Without even truly having to influence a person into doing something, that snake-like ability about him would paralyze someone into doing the most dirtiest of deeds. He was a fan of black mail, and naturally a crafty character. He knew of several large industries in the country that would kill to get their hands on what they had, and remained on the constant alert incase of loop holes or being double-crossed by a "partner." He was also a wild fighter with sword and hand-to-hand combat, but rarely needed it on the job. It was just precautionary, as he said.

These three men were sent from God himself to help get this company to where it was today. Whether it was everyday trading around the world, or even just on the infamous black market, practically everyone he personally hand-picked who worked for this company was worth something in the corporate mastermind's head—at least to an extent. Pride could be headstrong in this man's heart, and it was like a priest speaking back and forth between himself and his own Master.

The head of the company sighed exhausted, needing a stiff drink once they left. "I'm glad."

"Then, may I suggest a proposal?"

Gin smiled, the idea lighting up his face more than it should have. The Boss, Ishida and Abarai gave him their full attention, which he liked. "Keep them on the run. Why not? Let's just see how long they'll actually last with each other. At the most pinnacle times in our lives, the people who surround us will either be our saviors or our downfall. It's quite an interesting theory in my mind."

The Boss mulled it over. "Maybe. I'll think this over."

He thought it over. He turned his chair back to face his men.

"Just find them before it's too late. I want them back here in a month or less. If they resist, hunt them down, and that's an order. Ruin them. Crush their emotions, their spirits, their hope of ever returning back home. I want them to be constantly looking over their shoulders in fear that they'll be caught at any moment. I want them brought back _alive_. The girl must be in perfect condition, the man I will deal with. Now get out and do your jobs!"

With that, the large metallic door opened, and Uryû, Gin, and Renji shuffled out quickly, almost feeling an invisible push telling them "Get Out!"

* * *

><p>The door to his office shut with a <em>shushed<em> sound, making the room completely soundproof again. The three head execs stood outside of the office with a tampered edginess likening itself to irritation. Well, at least that's how it felt in Renji's perspective.

"Well, what do we do now?" he spoke irritably, tapping his foot against the ground repeatedly. Uryû was just flipping through the pages again, reviewing any missed information from before.

"_Well_, I don't know about you two, but I'm going back to my office," said Gin with his twisted smile. He turned on his heel and walked down the hallway, his steps silent against the tile. He moved like a specter haunting unsuspecting children, which always bothered Renji. Uryû just didn't seem to care that he left. His eyes were looking at colored charts and several equations on the same page without even focusing on what he was looking at. He wasn't a fan of Gin to begin with, so keeping himself distracted was the best way to deal with/ignore him.

"I've still got _a lot_ of work to do before this whole thing blows over, so I better continue." He stopped and turned his head around to face Renji and Uryû. "I hope you guys know what's going on, because I sure don't!" He smiled in such a freakishly charming way that he would have probably froze Death himself.

Then he was around the corner seconds later.

The packet of paper closed in one movement, Uryû looking disapprovingly towards where Ichimaru disappeared.

A release of tense air was heard soon after.

"I don't trust that guy," Renji said in a low voice, shaking his head.

He silently agreed, but a tick in his mind made him focus on one word. "Although, you're not really one to trust that many people," Uryû commented.

"That's _my_ job. I get people to trust _me_, not the other way around."

Renji sighed, unsure of what to do next. The day here had just begun sort of, and it was already going to be a long one. He ran a hand through his flaming hair, and touched the hair elastic keeping his ponytail up. He pulled it out, placed the elastic between his teeth, before he redid it and tightened his hair against it, making sure the band wouldn't budge.

Uryû had a thought and it showed through his cobalt eyes. He began to walk away from Renji as well, curious as to what was up his sleeve.

"There's always a way to find a person, no matter what little trace he leaves behind." Uryû walked around the left-hand corner, going in a different direction than his co-worker.

Renji was left alone now in the hallway, Uryû's steps fading away steadily.

The tiniest bit of stress was eating at his insides, but he pushed it aside instantly. If these two escapees were dangerous, it was going to be a nightmare tracking them down.

_So, what will you do now? _He thought for a moment, and came to a conclusion.

Renji slid his shades back on, covering his amber eyes, and turned opposite away from the other two. His hand slid into his breast pocket, and pulled out a gold carton. "I think I'll have another cigarette break . . . ."

* * *

><p>Looking over the cliffs, they stood. The sun was just starting to rise, a golden orange wrapped around inside of a pink hued and cottony purple blanket. And the morning sky couldn't have been any more beautiful to their weary eyes.<p>

They were hiding at the top of a cliff overlooking the tree nestled valley where the Company sat. Choosing this spot to hide at the moment wasn't totally at a complete loss. From the angle of the cliff and height of the mountain, it was a complete dead zone for all technology, and if cameras were to actually point in the general direction of this cliff, their bodies would not been seen.

Ichigo had slung the jacket over his right shoulder, his other hand in his jeans pocket. He looked like he was posing for the cover shoot of a men's catalogue with the way everything grabbed his body. Rukia's arms were folded protectively over her chest, trying to retain warmth as the chilled air just began to step away. Her onyx hair, lank and sticking to the sides of her neck, felt the touch of light and finally began to dry in the heat of the morning sun. She closed her eyes, basking in its warmth.

Ichigo glanced at her briefly, being reminded of the bruises that were faintly visible on her porcelain skin when the sun ascended. Dried blood had coated her fingernails, giving them a grisly sheen in the sunlight. As he stared at her unknowing form longer, the hissing gears began to work in his mind yet again.

Her outfit was a combination of slim white ballet flats on her feet—the cause for her to skid while running—with a thin tattered skirt ready to slip off her hips that stopped above her knees, and a white camisole with pale pink lacing on the straps and top where it dipped into her chest. He also noticed she was also wearing a chain necklace and dog tag adorning her neck.

This was not a coincidence.

She was the first one to speak. "That car you stole, it has an unregistered license plate number." How she knew that, he did not know. "If the cops ever pull you over, they'll know we're on the run and we'll be sent back there." Brutal images of them being ripped away from the car and each other were scorched in blood in her mind. Her eyes were hazed over by the very thought, hiding her spirit with confliction. "I couldn't bare it."

He inhaled deeply, a solemn sigh dispersing from his chest. "_Hm_." Ichigo shifted his stance a bit, the jacket still slung over his shoulder carelessly. The expression on his face was numb and dull. Truly he was expressionless as he stared into the distance over the hills and down into that little valley where their personal hell lived and breathed, still spitting out fire like a demonic dragon. If there was ever a time that Rukia could read his thoughts by looking at him, this would be the first that she didn't know what was on his mind.

Frustrated, she snapped, staring him down. "'Hm?' That's all you have to say? What are you thinking? They're probably coming after us right now as I speak!" She started to panic as she realized what she'd said aloud. "They probably have dogs sent after us too! They'll follow our scent or something and they'll drag us back there!"

His eyes shifted into hers, a long sideways glance that looked similar to distrust. Before she could begin to hyperventilate Rukia caught his eye, shock and surprise making everything on her face rise. It was short lived as she barked at him again. "What's wrong with you? Aren't you worried, Ichigo? They could capture us! They could _kill _us!" Her frustration went to her hands, tightly balled into fists and shaking slightly from the tension. She stepped forward towards him, as if she were challenging him to a fight. "We have to leave! Now!"

"Relax, Rukia, you're too tense."

His abrupt response snapped her out of her stance, faster than if she had been slapped across the face. "What did you say?"

Ichigo sighed deeply, closed his eyes and shook his head. "We really don't know if they're going to come after us just yet, and if they are, they would have already been here by now. I know it for a fact." Rukia became nervous at that blunt statement. "We would have already been captured by now because of tracking chips located either somewhere on the Lamborghini or us."

"Ichigo . . ." He wrapped his leather jacket around her cold body, hands left on her shoulders.

"Just focus on getting dry and staying warm." Ichigo brought her face to his and gave her a gentle kiss on the lips.

He tasted different, like another man. But when he broke their embrace, he was still the same man: same bright hair, same eyes, only an array of bruises and a cut marred his face.

She smiled, eyes roaming up and down his figure. Then bluntly, she stated, "You look good in black."

He grinned and stepped back, obviously liking what she thought of him. "Heh. Thanks," a wry smile on his face.

She smiled flirtatiously at him, an all-knowing glint in her eyes. "No, I mean it. The way they fit everything perfectly to your body. They made _everything _fit you in all the right places. Everything's so tight and perfect . . . especially your pants."

He laughed. "Only when I'm around you."

He stepped back away from her, an actual skip in his step.

"So, what do we do now?"

She walked back up to him now, something ghastly in her eyes likening itself to sadness. Her eyes slid away from his and fell down the rest of his body innocently, until they picked a certain spot that interested her. To his lower extremities. Her hands reached out and touched his belt, hiding his endowed body and began to undo the latches, accidentally rubbing against the bare skin there when she pulled the clasp.

"I can think of a few things . . ."

"_Rukia_," he moaned, not wanting this right now, especially since they were still in enemy territory, but his body still aching for her touch. Would they really do the deed right here?

She slid the belt off of his waist, but didn't discard it. Rukia placed the belt around her own hips and tightened the strap until it was snug, clipping the loops in place until she knew he skirt wouldn't fall off if they were to run again.

He gave her a stunned glance. She caught his eye again, making a ticked off pout.

"_What_? This skirt's so tattered that it's going to slip off at any second! What did you think I was doing?"

"_Uh _. . . ," he looked to the side as he began to blush, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. He really didn't need to answer that.

"Ugh, you pig. Let's just go." Annoyed, she walked away from him.

"Well, excuse me for assuming the way you acted was going to lead on to something else!" He was flustered.

Rukia barked out a laugh. "Ha! You'll make up any excuse for me to "want" to have sex with you."

Ichigo swore at her under his breath. She did that on purpose and she knew it. After almost seven years of knowing her, he still couldn't pick up on when she was acting and when she was being serious half the time.

Her acting had gotten a lot better over time, but Rukia still managed to drive him crazy from it.

* * *

><p><strong>That's an epic desk. And, hah, nobody knows who they're talking about. Any ideas who the original defector was? I don't ;) <strong>

**Respond and review! **


	4. Belief

**Um, hi? And happy 4th of July! Where to begin . . . I apologize for never getting around to carrying out this story (I swear I'm not lying when I said I had one heck of a busy year at college, and it allowed me to do barely any writing, which sucked). I also realized a while ago that Bleach itself is rounding the bend for its final chapter. This also seems like an extra jumpstart to revive this story before Bleach loses its already faltering popularity, and try to bring back why the original people who read my story first enjoyed it. Felt like America's birthday was an appropriate date (and almost a year since I published as well). Please review and enjoy! More is coming, I swear . . . .**

**John Mayer ~ Continuum**

* * *

><p><em>A beat. <em>

_There was nothing in the void surrounding her body but the dripping thrum of heated liquid. One drop being added at a time. _

_Beat. _

_The never-ending, blackened__-__out surrounding that lived in this dead sea was a new kind of murder. _

_A pulse. _

_She breathed steadily, clear air—the purest oxygen she had ever tasted—filling her crumpled lungs. Ironically her senses were cold and numb, and she could feel her body struggling to find warmth in this blank escape from reality. She was naked to the world. She could not remember anything. Where was she? Who was she? She opened her eyes, but they seemed to remain shut. The infernal darkness kept her closed and cornered: there was no light. There was no hope for anything not able to handle these conditions—she was surprised she was able to hold on for so long, the way these ephemeral moments dyed and blended in with Hades' darkness._

_Contact. _

_Her thoughts faded as her blind eyes drifted shut. Her mind became foggy and hazy. The buzzing fury of sleep took over, and she gave into it like a sick child needing their rest . . . ._

_Then there were sheets and fabrics draped all around her body. Cloths fit for rich kings and prejudiced princesses._

_A room shifted into view. A dark, aged room pulsating with the vibe that daylight was breaking beyond the curtains. With not even a glance to where this sensation was coming from, the flutter of sheets surrounding her form nestled softly against her body as a harder one punished the mattress with his weight. _

_A touch . . . a warm kiss . . . then the deliciously tight feeling entering her body, shakes trying to resist the movement from her core. He was taking his time with her. This affair was flirting with her senses and winking sly innuendos to the newly budding flower when she inhaled sharply as everything was released. Energy flowed between them. _

_Then his delaying thrusts. Slow and long, bringing her to the brink and beyond in the blink of an eye. He was so tight against her skin, her body could do nothing but remain limp from the emotions surrounding his deliberate movements. She had to bite her lip to keep the excitement jumping around in her belly at bay. _

_He was a beast. He was like a tattoo she could not remove—she wouldn't remove him from inside her body. _

_She filled her lungs with his scent; a hot liqueur weaved into his skin. It was enough to drive any woman mad from desire over him. It wasn't the familiar touch she knew or was used to, but she was connected to him. There was a need to know who this man was. _

_She opened her midnight colored eyes, starry and blurred from the pleasure. _

_He was shrouded, and the room started spinning. All she saw was_ . . . _red _. . . .

"_Alright_, we need to find out what the hell we have in here," Ichigo started as he ripped out the burlap sack and a blanket that was tucked under the passenger's seat carelessly over the dirt.

Rukia snapped straight and dug her long blood-coated nails into the earth. Her body had been sitting on the cold ground partially near the Lamborghini, still wrapped in Ichigo's jacket, but her mind had been asleep to the world. Icy remnants of the water in her hair acted like a numbing sedative. The sun's drawl of seeping rays added an edge of unconsciousness.

The tilt of the earth had not stopped the flexing tips of the sun's warmth from touching all creatures who needed it, and the creeping edge of night finally submitted, accepting that it's reign had ended before returning to its cave.

However, her mind seized once Ichigo spoke. Out of her trance now, the blurring images faded away behind her blue eyes into particles of gray smoke. A low, rasping pant accumulated her throat. She had been lost, entrapped within chambers of her own mind. Maybe they were only old nightmares. Faded memories that merged into another and twirled around like a strand of loose DNA.

Yes, memories. Power-washed clean memories. Ones . . . of . . . _of another man_.

Rukia shook her head roughly. _No way!_ It hadn't happened. It _didn't_ happen. That body above hers wasn't real, it had only been a fantasy. A tasteful, delicate fantasy with runes carved into his body, telling stories of all his travels throughout life.

That memory was only her imagination running amok. But as much as she wanted to erase her mind—_Had it been real?_ Rukia bit her thumbnail uneasily, getting a light taste of iron scrapings from her last victim.

Ichigo managed to yank out other numerous items from the backseat, and actually grinned at one in particular.

"First aid kit. That's definitely good to have." The split skin on Ichigo's cheek had finally healed, but it still hurt to the touch. He had made sure to wipe the blood away before Rukia actually gave him a good once-over using the sleeve of his jacket. Something in here would hopefully hide the drama of action from those burly men. He gave a sideways glance Rukia and scowled bitterly when he saw her just sitting there. She was oblivious to everything going on around her at the moment.

"Hey! _You're _the one who wanted to move, so get off your ass and help me with this stuff!"

Hot coals in her eyes damned Ichigo for interrupting her thoughts; his own staring back only stoked the fire when a sudden rage filled her. He tapped the first aid kit to his hip while trying to read Rukia's nasty look. He blew out hot air and opened his mouth. "I'm only saying it's what we both want, _sweetie_. I don't want to stay in this desolate area any more than you do. Now stop beating me up with your eyes and _please _help me?" He dragged "please" out into three syllables, tightly gritting his teeth into an awkward smile.

The small girl blinked slowly and gathered herself together enough to stand up. Ichigo nodded an approval before going back to digging through the Lamborghini's insides.

Rukia breathed for what felt like the first time in minutes, rising slowing from the dirt. Spots of altered sound entered her ears, not like the ones encasing them. The chirping of the birds stopped. Murmurs and whispers were heightened. The gigantic pine trees closed their branches around her and held their tongues. Her mind felt tainted from something dark, and curdling sickness was felt in her stomach. She fell to her knees defenseless, Ichigo not close enough to help or notice her. With a hand clutching sharply into her flesh, all darkness swallowed her up in one prayer. A shadow clouded her mind and senses when she felt a presence stand behind her, claiming Rukia as its own. It felt thirsty for her blood, warmth drinking the heat from her shoulder when it touched her there.

_Contact_.

Rukia was only frozen from pain, but dared a look to her right. Sight ignored her eyes as they clouded gray. Rukia could only hear his words with aggressive taste. He chortled. _Heh, don't worry. He'll never be anything like me.  
><em>

With a shove, it was gone.

_He was gone. _Her body felt sore and turned on at the same exact time. She grabbed the chain around her neck, feeling the chill from the silver staining her skin.

All was well after that. Normal time allowed the birds to speak to one another again, the wind to breathe on its own. The pines swayed on its breath, and Rukia woke from the shattered glass world in time to break away from the Monster's charm. Her stomach halted its assault, and she made a pact to move quickly incase this were to happen again.

She clambered close to Ichigo's side, belief bringing out her survival instincts that she would be safer from the trees—and herself—with another person around. Rukia's shaking breath stretched out farther than their shadows on the ground.

Bending down, hands on her knees, she stared intently at the items Ichigo had recovered. "So how many guns do we have?" he laying out the very last on the blanket.

"Thirteen, including the one in my back pocket."

"You better have the safety on—"

"—I do—"

"—otherwise you'll shoot your ass," Rukia ended, and without really meaning to, a minor chuckle broke free. Most likely the reversed wires in her brain linked inaccurately to the deep scream embedded in the fleshy matter of her mental prison, coming out as something jovial. Ichigo gave her an unimpressed look at her comical error.

"All I really found otherwise was the First Aid kit . . ." And once saying that, Ichigo scratched at the scab forming on his cheek by accident, hissing when he picked it open again.

"Idiot. You need some antibacterial cream. There should be some Neosporin in here somewhere . . ."

"I'll be fine, Rukia. It already healed. See?" he said pointing at his cheek.

"Here." She found a small flesh colored dot, ignoring him. "Let me put a bandage on it anyway."

"I said—"

"I don't give a damn what you said, _just come here_!"

He rolled his eyes, not willing to argue over this anymore, and sat down stiffly on a hard rock. He looked away when the bandage was pressed to his cheek. With a subtle push of adhesive against his skin, Ichigo winced a bit from the pain.

When Rukia was done he crossed over to the Lamborghini and looked into the side view mirror, scowling at the tender puffing skin. "_Pff_. I look like I just lost a fist fight! Think anyone will buy it?" he added quickly.

"I'm not sure. I doubt it." Ichigo touched his bandage and a tingle of pain shot through his face. Rukia pulled him away from the mirror and pressed a kiss over the area where he hurt. "Feel better?"

She had a numbing effect on his senses, but it never clouded his mind away from the immediate thoughts following after cutesy things like this. "I'd feel better if you came a little closer, if you know what I mean," he said with a wiggling eyebrow. She turned him down instantly with a smack on his forehead.

"I save my expeditions for the _boudoir_, Ichigo, not the woods."

"It could be a turn on—"

"_No_."

He grumbled a sigh when she walked away from him. "What about the trunk?" she asked dryly.

"I haven't checked it yet. I've been too focused on looking through the car itself."

There was silence between them for a few moments before a light breeze strolled by, her hiked-up and damaged skirt swaying slightly, their hair being tangled in loose waves. Ichigo sat back down on the hard rock. Then he spoke. "I think we had a miracle."

Her arms folded over her chest. "Miracle?" Rukia looked at him. "I can't really say that, but I think it's only because we were stronger than them. And had adrenaline. And luck. _And _better aim."

Ichigo smirked. "Hell of a lot better aim. They were throwing rocks compared to us." He frowned suddenly. "It's strange though."

"What's strange?"

"The men, they were worried about you for some reason. As soon as that knife was drawn, they freaked."

Rukia narrowed her eyes. "Of course they would be, anyone would freak if they saw a ten-inch blade. Even I thought you were going to kill me for a second! Jerk!" she added with a light smack to the back of his head. "Where the hell did you even get that thing, anyway?"

"It was in my coat," he stated bluntly, she rolling her eyes and looking towards the trunk once more. "And I'm serious, Rukia, they really overreacted for guys willing to gun us down one minute and hold our hands the next. It's all too weird."

"I don't know how you're not scared over any of this."

He huffed. "Heh, I don't get scared."

"Bullshit. That can't be true!"

"Well, maybe I just hide it better than you." He couldn't sit any longer. He turned away from her blaring blue gaze, glancing around their little campsite with his heart and mind on two opposite things. The first: "Hell, I'm scared. I'm completely shaking on the inside. But I can't obviously show it. I can't let my fear swallow me up. That's not how I am." He spun around back towards her, meeting her eyes full on. The second part: "I need to be strong for the both of us. It's the only way we'll survive."

Ichigo's eyes were strained and exhausted; the sunlight sprinkling through the trees not helping much either.

Rukia felt troubled by what he had said and frowned. Her feelings might have also been mixed from her sexual psychological daydream. "But you don't really believe that, do you?" She closed the distance between them, but enough for him to still breathe. "Aren't I your friend, Ichigo? Aren't we _nakama_? You can't really think I'm just going to let you run around with that burden like a child with a kite. You shouldn't have to shoulder anything by yourself without telling me." She smiled brightly, but the bruise was casting away its warmth.

His chocolate eyes changed slightly, weariness sinking deeper the more he kept his eyes open.

"And the same goes for you, right? You'll tell me everything . . . always?"

Her smile was like a flower blooming open from the heat of the sun. "Of course."

_Our love is the only thing feeding us and making each other stronger. _But he would never really tell her that, or at least he had never exactly found a way to express this to Rukia. Love was something only a select few people could unravel—completely discover what it truly meant. To be alive and in love, and as much as he knew her, enjoyed her, loved her company, Ichigo was afraid for what was to become of them now. Could this whole crazy situation backfire? He had wanted a vacation, not a life transplant. He wasn't really into camping either.

He almost wanted something amazing to happen, like for a phoenix to fly over the tree tops, singing its eerie but beautiful love song and wake up. He actually wouldn't have minded if his father went on one of his crazy "WAKE UP!" tirades in the morning like when he used to. But Ichigo could settle for now.

There was an exchange of silence before he spoke again. "We'd better get going soon. There's no telling how quickly we'll get caught if left out here for too long."

"Alright, but just one more thing," Rukia said stepping away from him again.

"What is it?"

"I can't . . . _argh_, open the trunk!" She said struggling with the rear end of the Lamborghini, her small fingers prying at the underside but not succeeding. "Use your keys to open it."

"Forget about the damn trunk right now, Ru. There're no dead bodies stuffed into it, that's for sure."

Rukia shivered when she thought of mangled and bloodied corpses splattered across the truck. Ichigo didn't notice.

She ignored his comment and attempted to try again.

"It won't work. It's in the front."

"How do you know?" she challenged.

"'Cause I'm a genius now," he teased. Then seriously, "But really, it's because it's in the front. The engine's in the back. I'll be sure to look at the engine when we're far enough away from this place."

Rukia gave up. "Just tell me when you're ready," she muttered defeated while walking to her side of the Lambo, ready to pass out when given the go.

As he started to clear up the guns, they left nothing but the finest outlook to an unsure future. Ichigo couldn't get over it. "Cripe, I feel like I'm Johnny Depp in _Public Enemies_."

"Not quite. Plus, his guns weren't as powerful as those," Rukia mentioned from the other side and settled back down.

"They would seem pretty badass in the 40s, at least."

She popped out from the sports vehicle, a more serious presence holding her. "Hey Ichigo, I found a briefcase."

"A briefcase?" That was a weird thing to have in the Lamborghini. He walked over to where she was now standing—a very large case between her hands.

It was a dirty gray-bordering-on-black color with a metal combination lock keeping the contents safe from greedy hands. He gave it a once over and set it on the ground, contemplating how to open it.

Rukia tapped her lip. "Maybe there's a crowbar in there or some—AAH!"

Ichigo had pulled out his gun and shot at the lock pointblank, the sound erupting almost like a cannon, and had startled enough birds from their roosts in the dinosaur-like pine trees to give the sky a shadowed cloud. The bullet had jumped away, the combination lock smoking from the atoms exploding on its surface. He pulled it off like a badass.

"DAMMIT ICHIGO, YOU COULD HAVE GIVEN US AWAY!" Rukia roared at him, her eyes bloodshot from fear of everything at this time. He only smirked, lousy prick.

"It worked." He put the gun back into his pocket and tore open the case, minding were his fingers pried, otherwise they would be burned by the still-smoldering metal. "What can be in here that they don't want us to see?" The case clicked and with the smirk still on his face he forced it open.

A blood spattered human heart would have probably been a better find than this.

When the lush hues meshed together with the black velvet inner casing and met their chaste eyes, expressions deadpanned. The ways of the world were never expected—not when the rush of adrenaline pounded through their hearts again, yet for a different reason, and paddled through the sea of swarming mischief swiftly overcoming their reasoning. All from this startling discovery.

The case had been filled with thousands of green American dollars, one-hundred dollar bills printed with Ben Franklin's face staring back at them with his wise eyes. All nestled inside patiently waiting to be found. He was finally waking up to find out that their cards and pieces were scrambled and shredded. This wasn't a game anymore. Ichigo didn't even understand. He couldn't bear the threads that grasped after the meaning of fear anymore. Rukia's tongue barely formed words to express her bewilderment when Ichigo swore. "_Shit_. We're going to have to get a new suitcase."

"What?" she asked confused, the whirring hum of her mind speeding by causing her to lose focus. "Why? What-what's wrong with this one?"

He looked at her. "Haven't you ever seen the movie "_No Country For Old Men_"?" She shook her head. He looked at her in shock; how could you _not_ have seen that movie? He sighed. "Well, basically from what I can remember, the main character finds a suitcase in the desert filled with, like, two million in it, but he's got Javier Bardem, who's a hit man, chasing after him, because the case has a tracker in it. And after seeing that movie," he chuckled nervously, "I would definitely want to switch the case." She wasn't sure of it, but she thought she saw him tremble, like a bird shaking off water droplets after a rainstorm. "I don't exactly want to end up like Josh Brolin."

"Well, it seems like that movie had a cheerful ending," Rukia muttered sarcastically under her breath, knowing that this money was more of a curse than a blessing.

His lightly tanned hands pulled three hundreds out of the yellow bands and held them up to the sunlight. "They're legit. I can see Franklin's watermark in each one."

"This really can't be happening though. I mean, it's too ridiculous! Where could _they _have gotten that money? Whoever put that money in there must have stolen it!"

"Ya think?" he snipped sarcastically. "They're a multi-million dollar corp. A few hundred thousand won't be taken into account. They probably have one of those money making machines in there too."

Rukia abruptly stalled. "That makes us in even more danger—our heads will be put onto a silver platter—just for them!" Her voice had raised an octave higher than what her partner could bear.

"Our bodies will erode like ice in the summer rain, right? I can see it happening," Ichigo said, the statement sending off hints that his mind had traveled elsewhere. He scowled, stuffing the cash into his back pocket. Rukia gave him an incredulous look, he mimicking her.

"Well, dammit, I'm not going to waste what's left of my life standing around here kowtowing about some bastards that did God knows what to us. I'm leaving!" Ichigo stalked forward to the Lamborghini before fiercely turning to look at her. His words came from somewhere deep inside, a spotlight on an inner man she didn't recognize. "I suggest you come with me, Rukia. The world isn't so cold that you can't move forward."

There was a wire pulling her soul away, but strangely being drawn to the darkness she yet to realize was slowly gulping down her friend like a vampire with blood. "Are you sure about that?"

He stopped. Seconds passed. Her voice had barely been a rasping wisp of air, but it itched when Ichigo thought it over. Determination blindsided him. "I'll take my chances out there. We've already lost control over our lives as far as I can tell. I just wonder if we can keep up with the speed of the world now."

_Contact_. . . .

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><p>It was 7:25 according to the digital clock inside their stolen Lamborghini Gallardo, and they were now driving off somewhere down a deserted road, a backdrop of the sun and sky still sleepily rising from the east. They would need to search for an actual road or major highway and fly down it in whichever direction they chose.<p>

Rukia had snuggled down into her seat like a kitten curling into a warm blanket, exhausted from only a few hours before. As bright as it was, the tinted black windows helped a bit. Ichigo kept his weary and somewhat strained eyes on the road, not passing any familiar road signs or clues to where they were driving to, or away, from.

The briefcase was under the passenger's seat, and as hard as it was, Ichigo had to keep his mind off of it. It wasn't the easiest mental image to remove from his mind's eye either, but the glare from the sun distracted him enough to let the thoughts pass under the radar.

Time passed, and Ichigo managed to find a desolate highway filled to the horizon with sand dunes and scratchy scrub brush tickling the gray and broken tar. Ichigo was becoming agitated by the solar glare and by not having a pair of sunglasses when her voice piped up.

"Maybe we should find somewhere to eat?"

The tightness in his stomach agreed without growling as she sat up. "Sounds pretty decent. But where are two lowly fugitives going to find some breakfast? We need a hideout."

"Well, that's pretty convenient." Rukia pointed towards a shack in the blistering distance, their sign large enough to decipher from miles around.

"The Hideout" as it actually happened to be called seemed like a local restaurant meant for truckers and other sorts of hicks and misfits and hungry families that didn't know where the hell they were going either. Numerous trailer trucks rested on the side of the house-shaped building while only a few cars littered the front. Ichigo wasn't sure where to park the Lamborghini without making it obvious they were here, but how hard could it be to hotwire any of these other cheaper vehicles?

The air felt like it shifted as soon as Ichigo's heel hit the gravel. He had a feeling whoever was inside had noticed their conspicuous entrance on the restaurant's territory, and he growled like a predator when he slammed the door down. "Keep on your toes, Rukia. I don't think we're out of hot water yet."

He hissed like steamed water coming off of a wood stove, remembering their situation. "We look like shit. Someone will obviously think there's something wrong with us—like we're crack dealers or something."

Rukia changed the subject for his sake. "Should I leave the briefcase here?"

Ichigo's eyes were only focused on the people giving noticeable glances towards them in the windows. "I don't care." Rukia huffed exasperatedly and shut her door. It locked with a firm _kick_.

Their entrance couldn't have been more dramatic. As soon as the bell above the door welcoming customers chimed, all eyes were upon them. The restaurant snapped silent minus the fidgeting of some restless infants impatiently wanting their food and the sizzling of grease in skillets. Fireworks could have probably gone off outside the front window and the people still would have been scrutinizing Rukia and Ichigo. With the bandages on his face, their dirty wardrobe, his jacket around Rukia's shoulders—not to mention several random splotches of blood streaked across her white skirt that went unnoticed by the fugitives before, but were on perfect display for all to see now—it was a hot mess by definition.

Ichigo only waited a moment before pushing through the sea of eyes and buried himself in them, teeth grinding the entire way until he found an empty booth at the corner of the bustling community. _No tickets please, your eyes will sore before you've had your fill._ The blond cook with short cropped hair even peaked out over his station to see what was going on, waitresses with hot trays not scurrying away fast enough from Ichigo's flaming glare as he passed them by.

Random assortments of muttering floated to their ears as they walked by, normal conversation resuming somewhat.

_"Geez, they look like shit . . ." _

_"Mommy, I'm full!"_

_"Did you hear about the . . . ?"_

_"Did you read this article about the murders in Alaska? Pretty brutal . . ."_

They slid into their booth comfortably across from each other, Ichigo taking the seat on the back wall away from the others, enough to get a glaring death-watch out on everyone else.

"Well, that could have gone worse," Rukia chimed, drawing a scowl from her partner.

"Let's just hopefully get something to eat and keep our energy up so we can leave."

Entering from behind a wall that lead into the kitchen area, a plate shattered with a considerable amount of muffled curses being smothered out by a hand following the clatter. Then unsteady silence. A girl with double-blonde high pigtails came over to their booth, a neutral space for an off kilter expression on her mouth with twin patterns of freckled triangles on her cheeks, making her look very cute, but as she approached Ichigo had the vibe that she had the personality of a rabid black bear and the ability to claw a man's face off if he ever told her that. The cute factor wouldn't dismiss her easily however, the pink French maid-like uniform caused snickers over her shoulder, and she smacked several men with her receipt pad vehemently before they silenced.

Her voice was tight stretching across bitterness and irritation, but she introduced herself boldly enough with a strong "Hello. My name is Hiyori and I will be serving you today." _I'm being paid to say and wear this so don't screw with me, got it? _"Can I start you off with some drinks?"

"_Water_," they both spoke simultaneously, dryly enough that Hiyori raised an eyebrow slightly. She scribbled the word on her notepad.

"Alright. Did you want to take a look at the menu . . . ?"

"We'll just take whatever you think would be a large and decent meal. Price doesn't matter," said Ichigo.

She flipped her pad shut with a quick snap to stifle an unwelcome quip she had. "I'll let them know and bring your food out shortly." There was no smile and she gave Ichigo a once over before making a clean decision that he was probably in the drug cartel and a deal had gone awry. The girl with him was obviously his ho'.

When Hiyori left and disappeared around the wall, loud shouting erupted from her at a certain person, who in turn retaliated with an equal amount of shouting. An object was thrown once more before an actual yell came from the back. "_Ow_! Hiyori! I am _not _making your food!"

"It's for the customers, jackass! You have to! And I'm not taking crap from a lousy—_crash_—_Shinji_!"

"Ohhhh? So you can put it out but you can't take it, _hunh_?"

Ichigo covered his face with his palm out of irritation over the ridiculous situation they had somehow drove themselves into. The restaurant environment apparently was used to this obnoxious kind of entertainment strangely enough and the regular chatter continued freely without obstruction.  
>"Hey morons! We're not getting paid to fight!" a new, more aggressive male voice added in the background.<p>

"Well this is one hell of a cheerful place," Ichigo muttered rolling his eyes. "I would think a place called "The Hideout" would be a little quieter . . ."

"Is "hostile" her middle name?" Rukia joked when a small scuffle was noticed in the white noise of the kitchen between several people now.

Water and straws had appeared on their table moments later by a pretty young girl with a black braid and pink glasses before she went behind the wall herself to hopefully keep their waitress from killing the frycook.

Ichigo removed his hand and saw Rukia grinning weirdly enough. He scowled. "Are you _actually _enjoying this nonsense?"

She sipped her drink casually for being extremely parched. "I'm a girl with simple needs. A little reminder that we're actually in the real world again makes me believe that things could turn out for the better." It was a falsified fib, her mind couldn't stop going over her daydream or the mysterious man fogged out from her memory. But Ichigo had been aggravated since he stepped out of the Lamborghini. She wanted him to at least have a decent attitude while surrounded with these other people.

"But can you actually believe that we'll be able to get through this unscathed?" His voice was breaking down from the small amount of fear rubbing inside his stomach until it came back up and thrown out at his lover. Their eyes locked, ice on fire, for a good thirty seconds.

"You said you wondered if we could keep up with the speed of the world now. What if we just _told _somebody—?"

"_No_. _We can't risk that right now_," Ichigo's voice had snuck into such a low harsh whisper Rukia had to listen carefully to make sure she got his words right. "If we tell any one of these people that we're fugitives, obviously the cops would show up, but what if people from the Company were to listen in and come along? _Eh_? I'm not risking it, especially since we don't even know where the hell we are. I don't remember ever really seeing any deserts in Japan before either . . ."

Rukia remained silent, sucking up whatever remaining water droplets were left in her glass. She hoped the black haired girl with glasses would come back soon.

Face in his palm, Ichigo smothered his grumbling, the scratchy hair on his face pissing him off more. The screeching had finally ceased slightly enough that it might have just been the radio blaring a heavy metal song in the background. It was a meticulous song at this point for all Ichigo cared. He scratched the back of his neck irritated, and his eyes jumped open. He suddenly remembered the dog tag around his neck and pulled it out. Rukia, stunned that she had also forgotten about her own, followed his action, flipping the engraved writing towards her. "What does yours say?" she asked quietly.

""Kurosaki, Ichigo. Test subject #15." You?"

""Kuchiki, Rukia. Test subject #14."

" . . ."

"Are they seriously screwing with us by having our birthdates as the numbers?" The girl across from him seemed more irritated by this rather than—

"Rukia, don't you get what this means?" She perked an eyebrow up annoyed at this ridiculous B.S. and gave him a bitter frown. He sighed. "Test subject fourteen? Fifteen? It means we're not alone! There were thirteen other people before us!"

"Maybe. And your voice is getting louder, hush up."

Ichigo fumed at her total blasé attitude. He was ready to punch out the window next to him.

"Why don't you—!"

"_Shush_!"

Hiyori had finally come back looking not much better than the first time she had stopped by their table to "greet" them, only this time around she held two large plates in both hands. They had been covered with looked like a meal meant for a trip to the hospital immediately after digestion. This heart attack was filled with many pancakes, sunny side eggs, slices of rye toast, sausage, bacon, among other food that neither of the defectors had witnessed with their own eyes before. As Rukia continued to stare at her plate trying to figure out what the round lumpy roll on her left was, Ichigo noticed a small bright pink bandage on her cheek and another of a dot the color of lime green on her chin. Whoever had given her the band aids in the kitchen had probably wanted her to be slightly shamed, not that she would ever let it cross her visage. "Please enjoy," she said tight-lipped, trying to hold back any more bitching that could pop unexpectedly meant for her dumbass frycook. She took out two rolled napkins from her white apron and placed them on the table. And—it was a sign of the apocalypse—she smiled before walking away with an eerily composed stride. It struck as a hard blow in test subject 15's chest that something was definitely wrong.

Something hit Ichigo in the face and his hand nearly reached around for the gun on his back when Rukia's look stopped him. She held a knife and fork in each hand almost comically, her large blue eyes staring him down, revving up Ichigo's inner irritation up fifty-six percent. The girl jabbed her knife at his plate and said, "I think you're just hungry. Why don't you fill your gut first and yap later. Eat while your food's hot. At least that's what I'm doing." A scrape of knife against bone china, and a piece of pancake went into her mouth. "Mmm!" Ichigo gave her a serious look about how food could wait until later. "_We-can-take-it-for-the-ride_."

But she wasn't having any of it. "She's planning something for her friend in the back," using her knife again to point at the wall on her right. Then she paused, a searching look on her face. "Besides, the quality of the air hasn't changed in here more than it could have if something were to happen. We're fine . . . For now." Another slice and more syrup-drunk pancake went into her mouth. She swallowed and her belly was happy. Rukia didn't look up as she continued to cut apart her meal in smaller pieces. "Please eat a small amount of something at least."

It was settled once Ichigo snatched apart his silverware angrily and cut more into his food than he should have. "This better taste good," he ground out through his teeth, eyeing the fork curiously before stabbing savagely into a form of meat.

Rukia blanked and a part of the cage came back. It felt like she took a cold smoky-clogged breath, naked in the ice water of her dream. She had made contact with another, some sort of human form. It pulsated with a vibrant hue, _red_, beating against her ribcage. This heart wasn't a form of God or something similar. It had been odd, yet made especially for her. This turned into all the right moves to be easily taken down at a close range. _Why had they chosen to sit so openly next to a large window? _

Rukia prayed she didn't just make the biggest mistake of her life by staying in her seat.

_A heartbeat._

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><p><em>*faints* <em>**SO glad to have this posted. Please read and review! :)**


	5. Nil desperandum

**I was hoping to put this up on my story's first birthday (can't believe I already added it a year ago, time _really_ does fly) but I was travelling and had work the same night. But a new chapter is still nice within the same month. Hopefully I shall complete one more chapter before I'm wisked away to college again. Please review and enjoy-this story is going somewhere I promise. On a side note for all who are currently reading the newer Bleach storyline: Byakuya (spoiler) dying? Where on earth are you taking this story Kubo?**

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><p>There was something not right up in Alaska. Aside from all the constant bullshit with the government and their pipeline creating crossroads in the middle of a caribou's migration route or the ice melting beneath animals' feet, this issue was more of a local problem. It was a human's problem of course, but how to describe this quote-unquote "problem" was troubling.<p>

Women had been viciously murdered and their bodies torn to pieces. Others had also had the misfortune meeting their maker too soon. Similar incidents had happened in the port city of Anchorage, also in Alaska's capital, Juneau—both hundreds of miles and hours away from each other. They could have just been copycat murders, but the air about the women's deaths had left their mark on the investigators trying to hunt down the serial killer.

There had been one incident (the main reason for all of this panic) at a brothel of all places on the outskirts of the state's capital where an enemy with swagger had spent the night. Women still alive but barely looking all that healthy could only describe the man as "Charming . . . Tall . . . Dark haired . . . with gorgeous blue eyes that could cut cold steel." Everything else had seemed to have been wiped clean from their memories. No name, no number and the worst of it all was that there were no fingerprints, on the bed or the girl at this time. He had been to this brothel before in fact, going with the same girl as last time, but by morning next she had been discovered dead, her stomach and other entrails strewn about on the bed. It all made a horror movie look tame to a certain extent.

But where to even begin when it finally came down to cleaning up? Blood had covered, and indefinitely stained, the light blue sheets crumpled and balled into a matted mess on her disgraceful mattress. Partly covered with her blood and guts, the woodwork of the flooring where her body must have been torn would never be the same—_if _the room would ever be used again by the other girls that is. It was a travesty minus the laughter.

The man was gone, almost like a shadow disappearing when the sun sets.

This man—he had been an absolute devil.

The detective on this case for homicide was stiff with a type of cold he couldn't understand. He wasn't sickly this time around, thank God, but there was some chill creeping up his spine as his knees locked straight, rooted into the soaked carpet. He was getting too carried away in his thoughts about this twisted murder, trying to understand what was going through the murderer's head when he desecrated this poor girl's body. Even if she was a prostitute, she and her fu—excuse me, _client_ hid away in this room for an obvious reason. What kind of dare did she make when that door closed? And why hadn't any one else heard at least something? _A scream_? _A heavy thump on the floor indicating she fell, or something_? _Dammit_. There were only some cases in which an investigator wasn't too sure he would be able solve . . . but . . . he didn't think he was ever going to catch this sick killer. That thought alone was enough to drive a good man to heavy drinking.

Back at the police station, he sat at his work-piled desk and brooded over a black cup of coffee. Then a knock came at his door, and in came his partner, a Hawaiian who had migrated Stateside a few years back. Going from extreme humidity and warm beauty to brittle cold and yet still some slight evergreen beauty must have taken a toll on him. He drank his lukewarm coffee and spoke, "Did you find anything from the body?"

His partner only frowned. "No, sir. The rape kit showed no signs of sexual assault or internal bruising of any kind. There were no traces of semen or used condoms within the room found either."

Then a sore silence. The detective swore under his breath and closed his eyes, trying to go back to only a few hours back. There he was standing in the gory room once more, tragedy still lingering on the soft interior of the wallpaper and furniture. He had seen his fair share of death and taken on other murder cases in this county, but even bits of _small intestine _on the wall could make a mentally and internally strong man want to retch. But it wasn't a bit of her small intestine that was on the floor or wall, thank goodness. What got the detective most was the empty cavity between her normal-sized breasts gaping into a dark available opening where her heart should have been. Her collarbone had been broken from impact of something fierce.

Yeah, change of plan, he needed to retch this time.

" . . . You have to understand officers; these girls aren't exactly spring chickens you know." That was what the brothel's grotesque and shabbily dressed _caretaker_ had given as an excuse as to why Lauren "Lulu" Mahan had been dismembered and dishonored as a woman.

Why did it have to be an automatic court sentence if he beat this bastard with one of the cops' nightsticks? Wild West jurisdictions be praised, not damned if he could have shot down this prick himself with a fancy revolver. In a hard line, the detective's lips whitened from stifled rage. "No, but it's your job to at least take care of them somewhat. You should be testifying on the girls' accounts, but here you are being a total and complete coward, only wanting us to clean up this bastard's mess so you can just make another buck. Bring him down to the station. I'm sick of seeing his face already."

In a beat the fat man was gone from his sight. The brothel would be shut down as they continued to investigate the murder scene with high interest, gathering additional information as HQ compared notes with those from Anchorage. With the whore house closed hopefully this would give the girls a second—or even third—chance at life.

There was nothing left to discuss, nothing to even bother trying to figure out anymore. Swirling with disbelieving thoughts, the detective gave a final brief note to himself as he turned away from the scene of the crime and returned to reality at his desk. _Whoever did this sure as hell is a monster . . ._

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><p>He breathed out heavily after watching outside their window for some time, uneasy, a hand ready to grip and feel the texture of the gun's handle as he fired it out at oppressors. There had only been four cars that had entered the gravel parking lot after they arrived, six more leaving, but many people that walked into The Hideout stopped to stare, but only <em>admire, <em>the Lamborghini fortunately. Each time made Ichigo's heart race and blood scream at the dread of capture.

They had finished their meals and had added on to their bill two rounds of milkshakes, Rukia finishing her second one with a satisfied smile, which hit the spot indefinitely.

There was something about having an upper-class mature woman like Rukia as happy as a child in a time as this. He smiled, his irksome miffed and tiffed attitude retiring to the Bahamas when actual food hit his gullet in what appeared in his mind as years. There had been a small amount of strawberry milkshake at one point above her lip while she was downing it, and the escapee sitting across from her could only stare in distaste when she daintily dabbed it clean.

Ichigo had to bite the tip of his tongue to keep it from licking his lips. There was no reason he should have been getting horny at a time like this, but he _was _a _man _after all, it couldn't be helped. He fantasized over what he could have done to her to keep her from doing such a selfish thing. If they had been alone he would have parked her down on a bed and licked it off himself before a napkin could even be attempted to remove it.

"I can't tell if you're content or as stiff as those pants of yours," Rukia said after this static-like silence between them lasted for longer than she anticipated from someone as pissed-off as Ichigo.

But her response came with a tone as bright as red lipstick. "You know what I can't help thinking of actually?"

"What?" she asked without curiosity, seeming to get a feeling that he was going somewhere that she wasn't ready to enter just yet.

There was a mischievous smirk on his lips, something on his mind flickering in his eye. "How about tonight, if we find a dinky little motel or something, I'll let you have the most pleasurable experience you've ever felt with a man before." It was brazen, cocky and wasn't a question obviously. Rukia humored him by tapping a finger to her lip.

"_Hmm_. Tempting. But that could be twelve hours away. Are you sure you can _wait _that long?" Her eyes glazed over his with such a feisty, shameless look that it caused him to stir in every meaning of the word. Ichigo's voice tightened slightly as he was unable to fight the agonizing feeling he felt below the table grabbing at his crotch. Reminding Rukia of a blood-hungry werewolf, his sharp smile somewhat caught her off guard.

_"My pants may be tight, but it'll be worth it, knowing I'll be inside you."_

Her blush was odd on her discolored face, succumbing to the pull of his sexual desire. Ichigo's eyes were like looking into a silver plated mirror that revealed only triumph. Rukia felt as if she had just dropped into a tank of warm liquid that eased its way around her, like falling into the silken sheets of a king sized bed in nothing but her bare skin . . . his warm skin rubbing against her own. Rukia couldn't look at him directly right now, a hand covering her cheek as the orgasm blush spread, his chocolate eyes overwhelming her weakened system. Hopefully the sun would burn her corneas enough to blind him from her sight.

On that seductive note, Hiyori came back over to their table and _shockingly _asked if they would like anything else to eat or drink, Ichigo surprised she wasn't ready to throw their asses out on the scorching pavement from making her wait on them even more. Or had heard what he was going to do to his girlfriend when they were alone.

Besides the little fantasy he had about Rukia and the daydream he had of explosions and firing rounds at their enemies if they showed up at any moment—they _were _only kids with guns after all—Ichigo didn't want to ask risking sounding suspicious and dumb, but he had to. "No, thank you, but I do have a question for you Hiyori. We're a little lost. Do you think you could tell me what district we're in?" he asked, thinking they were still in some area of Japan.

She was actually very confused when he asked that, her expression clearly showing it. "_Huh_?"

"Or what area we're in please," Rukia added sweetly enough that maybe the girl wouldn't steal her soul as she continued to stare outside.

"Oh." Hiyori was still confused as to why he had asked in such an odd way, but answered in an off tone, "We're in the western part of Placer county."

The fugitives looked at each other absolutely dumbfounded, Rukia's blush finally gone.

"Uh, where exactly is that again?" Ichigo asked, trying to sound casual about it, a hand rubbing the back of his neck.

"Man, you guys really are lost." Hiyori huffed out a breath from their ignorance. "You're in northern California. Not too close to Nevada but you could get there today if you wanted to." She walked away when another customer hailed for her attention, bringing some dirty plates with her. Ichigo and Rukia's eyes were wide and looked as if they had just been slapped hard across the face. _Two and two equaled . . . !_

"_The United States?_" Ichigo hissed in an audible whisper.

"That's impossible!" Rukia exclaimed. "How did we get here?"

"I'll tell you how. Those bastards who run the Company, that's how." Canines were bared.

"But why go to all the trouble to bring us here? What was wrong with the outskirts of Hokkaido or even Okinawa? Those are definitely far enough away to elude suspicion."

"Who the hell knows. All I know for sure is that those fuckers aren't ever going to get their hands on us ever again!" His fist slammed hard enough on the table to attract eyes from the booth behind Rukia to look in their direction, then flicker away cautiously. "Especially not their money either," he bit out like a rabid wolverine.

"Watch your mouth, there're children around. And don't be greedy either. I think that money should only be used for important things."

"Wake up, Rukia," Ichigo snapped back, "we need food, shelter, gasoline and new clothing." He used his fingers to count it out like she was an idiot. "There's a couple hundred right there, and they're all important."

"Don't get snippy with me, Ichigo! You're the one with a bad attitude right now, and I won't take it if you're going to be more of a little bitch than me!" Fangs of a mountain lion crunched down on his sudden rage, and he slammed a palm to his face. Was he really this much of a pain in the ass when he was exhausted? Rukia and their waitress would become best friends at this point if he continued on.

"Well, what the fuck are we gonna do now, sweetie?" Ichigo snarled at the woman across the table. "Happen to have a map on hand? We are _so_ screwed." His palm hid his features once again.

Rukia's blue eyes dimmed. "I can hear her footsteps approaching. She's coming back to the table. Better think of something fast."

_Shit_. Ichigo's eyes scraped around the restaurant as he thought of a plan on the spot. Sharp eyes had plucked out a car dealership's tag on the back of a red Honda Civic near the Lamborghini as being from the Phoenix area, so that was the story he decided to go with for now.

Before rounding the corner to the kitchen to yell at that dumbass frycook again—Mashiro had been given the wrong food for table thirteen and it was another reason to let Shinji have it—Hiyori was stopped by the orange haired man waving her over, Hiyori grimacing internally when she walked over.

"Yes?" her voice of sliced sandpaper scratching together.

"By the way, do you know how to get to Phoenix?" Ichigo's voice had a calmed edge to it, completely flipped compared to his personality only seconds ago.

"Phoenix?" she blinked, narrowing her eyes. "Why do you wanna go there?" she asked suspiciously. They were completely up to something fishy. _Def drug cartel_, she thought, not that she actually gave a damn.

"Let's just say we're . . . _interested_ in seeing the scenery before we die." He glanced toward Rukia, whose eyes became saddened at the thought of not being able to tell the girl the truth about their situation.

Hiyori rolled her eyes, "Whatever." She then became serious at once as she thought of highways to take. "Well, let's see, right now, you're on route 395 south. You're going to have to keep going south if you want to get to Phoenix." She thought for another moment, "I'd take interstate 15 for a little bit—395 will bring you right to it. From there, you could take interstate 40 until you hit Flagstaff, and then turn right on Interstate 17 until you get to Phoenix. That's about two and a half hours away. It all depends on how fast you drive, that is."

Where the hell did all that come out from? Did that frycook actually get a good whack at her while gathering their breakfast? They sat in silence as he tried to contemplate all the information she just told them. After finally thinking everything over, Ichigo said, "Could you repeat that again?"

Hiyori seemed to growl and looked like she was ready to smack him with a serving plate.

Rukia sighed. "Would you happen to have a map instead?"

Hiyori shook her head. "Sorry, we don't sell any here. But Sado's convenient store is about a 13 minute drive from here. You can get one there." Indecent shouting came from the kitchen once again, Kensei letting Shinji finally have it about sucking at cooking. She wished she was back there herself relishing the verbal abuse, but here she was standing at the table with the two people who looked like they had crawled out of a pit. She cleared her throat and continued in monotone. "Anyway, you guys gotta clear out now. We stop serving breakfast around noon, and we pretty much close after that." The newest shatter of plates in the back didn't even cause her invisible quills to rise. She was beyond used to it. She did feel bad for Hachi however, he was always the one who dealt with the mess in the end, and even she knew that wasn't fair.

Once Hiyori settled down, she flipped out her little notepad and looked at the writing on it. She said, "Your total comes to $57.68, plus tax." _And a decent tip guys_.

Ichigo pulled out a hundred from his back pocket and handed it to her. "Here," he said, "keep the change."

Hiyori's eyes widened as the C-note was plopped casually into her hand, and she stared at it, snapping it taut, and held it up to the light coming from the window to make sure it was real. It was. A real smile formed on her face as an excited short burst of laughter came from her mouth. "Thanks!" she said, walking away from them. She just made about $40.00 in tips, even if it was drug money.

Ichigo smiled after her, actually glad that the girl was genuinely happy. Then he looked at Rukia. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah, I guess," she replied in a distant tone.

He picked up on it right away.

"What's on your mind?" He had only meant to turn Rukia on, not make her jump from hot to cold, and he was concerned. He muttered, "If it's about our current situation, I guess it makes sense that we would be given American money while in the U.S."

"It's not the money, dumbass. I couldn't care less for it." Rukia positioned her elbow on the windowsill and placed her palm up to her cheek, leaning her worry on it. For some reason being in the States wasn't bothering her as much as it should have. She was clashing with discord, her shield cracking with every pummel. "I don't know. Something's just been bothering me, but I don't know what." She closed her eyes. "It reminds me of a _migraine_."

_A pattern was forming_.

_A shock of white noise_.

_The echo of silence in an empty cavity of the mind. _

_It was stifling._

As Rukia tried to remember what was troubling her, her mind seemed to go off on its own. It wasn't about her daydream, not this time. This was something that had definitely happened, but she wasn't free from her corrupted shell just yet. And . . . _she slipped. _Warped memories started to flood back to her, and not all of them could be dammed up. The time spent inside that building . . . it was almost as if she fell asleep and were in an actual dream. A really, _really_ _bad_ dream.

_Beat_.

She remembered . . . _water_. _Toeing into a memory of water like a swan. A _lot _of water. _Almost as if she were swimming in it, but it was strange, almost as if she was in a tank or something. Drowning in it, and yet she could breathe. She was _under _the water however, remembered, she could feel her hair circling around her as waves—no, _bubbles_ danced around her. She had _definitely_ been underwater. Then she felt something on her face, covering her mouth and nose—a mask. _The purest oxygen she had ever tasted. _It was allowing her to breathe.

That memory sank away into Hades' darkness . . . all she could remember now was like, like the feeling of when you force your hands into an ice filled bucket, your nerves screaming in pain like they are bleeding live wires. Her memory of the agony of being prepared like a hunk of raw meat waiting to be skewered while lying on a cold silver table was enough to scorch her palms back into that bucket of ice.

The little doll they were trying to prepare for dinner was numb from cold, palms sweating, blurred vision a cause of the petrified light hovering over her face.

And . . . a person flashed into view. A man with shining, gleaming glasses and dark hair, saying something to her, patting her gently and showing her a syringe filled with some kind of liquid. A pain welled in Rukia's intestines, swimming up into her stomach. It was all too much to handle—this sickness inside her was ready to erupt. She didn't give a damn if the man was in her range, he had better move away quickly or she would expel all the poison in her system on him. He ignored all the warning signs of her convulsing body. He said something specific, something distinctive that sounded like Latin, (how ever she possibly knew that) and felt the sharp, but dull pain in her lower abdomen break into her skin.

Rukia's eyes snapped open as she gasped.

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><p>"Are you still looking for information on the fugitives?"<p>

Glasses hiding slightly surprised cobalt eyes turned to look up at the red-haired man, smoking a cigarette of course, even though he wasn't allowed to in this high-tech room, standing partially away from the large black leather chair he was sitting in. He also noted that his partner was no longer wearing the stylish sunglasses from earlier that morning. Uryû Ishida smirked like he was up to some mischief. "Oh, there is always information to be found on the internet, my friend," and he continued whatever he was typing into the system until the keys went quiet.

_That sounds like he's looking at a porn site_. Renji was aloof as he looked at the metallic flat screens attached to the wall, they being like a cyborg's innards instead of a room meant for humans.

Uryû let a snarky comment slip. "I wonder. Are you worried about what happened today?"

The tattoos in replace of his eyebrows knitted together. _Hell yeah, I'm worried genius. Over thirty men taken out? That's _pretty _serious._ But Renji only fed him back the same bullshit. "Me? Worry? Not necessarily . . ." He stopped. Thought. "I _am_ concerned however. This isn't going to end with sugar in our glasses and roses on the table." He flicked some ashes off his cancer stick.

"No, I wouldn't think so, however nice as that sounds." Uryû knew Abari was here for some other reason than to chitchat casually. "Was there some other reason you came to visit me during your usual lunch hour?"

Renji took a deep drag on his cigarette, a new tube of ash forming at the end of his relaxant. "It's about the two test subjects that escaped. Especially about the girl who's pregnant. "

What could only happen to be called a _pregnant_ pause occurred.

"What about her?" Ishida asked, typing once again on his computer at a quick speed as he followed through on listening to what ailed his fellow department head.

The spite coming from his smoky tongue couldn't have been a more interesting wake up call.

"I want the truth Ishida. I want to know what's really been going on."

Uryû only smiled at his attempt to get truthful answers.

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><p><strong>The chapter title will be explained in the next chapter. REVIEW and thanks for reading!<strong>


	6. Hanging On

**_Happy New Year! I'm not dead!_ _Thought I'd start the new year right with posting a chapter since I'm really not the best when it comes to doing that. And once again, theater has kicked my arse, which is the real honest reason I can never write. But I love what I do. Anyway here is a new chapter. Enjoy._**

_Ellie Goulding ~ Halcyon_

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><p><em>The first time I laid eyes on it, I knew there was something wrong. Something . . . devious about it. But, I remained quiet. And there I sat, saying nothing like the perfect obedient dog I was bred to be. It was something that shook my center, shook me off guard both as a mutt and human. And when I walked in every time, there he would sit. Constantly typing away on his computers. I knew he was a busy man—busier than myself half the time, but I always wondered. Was always curious to find out just what exactly made this extremely talented man tick. What made him love this job that was targeted point<em>_-__blank only for him. I wanted to know why he was so desperate for the boss's approval. Why, and how I might be able to adorn myself with the same power . . . . _

This was the beginning of an intricate game that made mega-mazes and Rubik's cubes jealous.

Renji stood patiently waiting for his answer, the cigarette's ashes flaring orange-red crystals as it neared the filter between his taut lips. The black jacket had been discarded, and his arms were crossed over his neatly pressed white dress shirt, skinny tie bunched as it lurched upward to breathe. He wasn't pleased that out of the three department heads _he _of all people had been left out of vital information. _Dammit_, even _Gin _knew more about it and that _really _busted his balls. Perky bastard. But even _he_ had been given a straightforward answer as to what was happening behind Renji's turned back.

Since when was his name a danger zone for an actual truthful answer?

Renji resisted the urge to tap his foot as he awaited a cleverly put together answer.

Seconds rolled by as Ishida still sat in his chair staring at the damn computer screen, probably ignoring him like he usually would if he didn't make more of a hassle. Maybe he thought of taking all the time left in the natural word to respond. He could have taken Renji's cigarette and finished it himself to not say anything at all, but in real time Uryû did not hesitate longer than necessary to answer.

_The truth_?

"What's going on, you say?"

But the truth was too _ordinary_, and quite boring for that matter. The truth might fuck with him more than telling a delicate lie. The truth was what he really wanted? _Let's give him a swig of sugar in his glass._ Uryû frowned when he spun around in his chair.

He huffed out a breath. "Abarai, I hardly have a grasp on what is truly going on here myself to be quite hon—"

"—I know you know more than what you're telling me, Ishida!" Renji cut off. "If anything goes wrong in this place, _you_ know about it. You're brilliant. You're not going to let something like this slip past your nose without you sniffing it out first!"

Uryû couldn't decide whether to smile or remain frowning. "I can't tell if you just compared myself to a bloodhound or flattered me."

"Don't change the subject! I'm pissed, _dammit!_" Smoke exploded from his mouth like it was an unstable building smoldering as it collapsed from the inside out. The flares from the remaining butt hanging out of his mouth made a prim escape as they shot off in different directions, avoiding making a singed mark on Renji's new clean shirt.

There was nothing that could eliminate the howling from inside his head as all the literal flames from hell's fury burst out as he shouted at Ishida, not willing to accept the fact that even as a leader, he was still—_always__—_a follower.

But . . . as he eyed the monitors before him, there was something else that stifled the twitching rage born out of rampant panic inside him.

All the cigarette smoke in the world could not block out the images from the screens put before him. As soon as the flaming red head walked into the room, albeit he stupidly did not notice them at first, the idolized images of a faltering star's bedroom was smeared and smothered with a color equaling the intensity of his own natural hair color. They were nasty, horrible, gory images. Whatever the hell Uryû was looking at disturbed his sense and sensible judgment. Maybe he _was_ looking at a porn site?

His calm and composed voice released some of the inner tension inside Renji when the screens went blank at the push of a button.

Uryû grumbled. "Well, quite frankly, restating what I've already said, I don't exactly know all that's going on myself, either." It wasn't exactly truthful, but wasn't necessarily a lie. He may not have been as good as Renji at lying or acting, but if he believed what he was telling his partner was the truth, it shouldn't be that much different. Uryû's face showed an emotion that was strange for him to share. Concern? The expression hung over his head like gray cloud threatening to downpour. "But besides being left out of the loop, something else is bugging you of course."

"Hmm? How so?" Sarcasm to a "T."

"I will answer any question you ask me. We're friends, or at least I hope we are somewhat." He heard Renji snort as he took the filter out of his mouth and threw it away, instantly digging around in his pocket for a fresh one. As much as Abarai denied it, they were in fact friends to a degree. Uryû himself wasn't the best when it came to making friends easily, but he had found some comfort in the slightly older man. Vice versa maybe not as much, but he took it because the man killing himself with cigarettes was quite honestly fiercely loyal and strangely dependable.

However . . . some things he wasn't privileged to know.

"Answer any question I ask you, huh?" he asked with the new cigarette between his lips. Renji nearly smirked because the answers he was about to get would be an interesting intermix of fancy words blended together and smoothed out on the layers of a three tier cake. It would either be the first layer, A: a lie, _duh_, the second layer, B: hazy information that Ishida doesn't really understand—_not likely_, or the bottom layer, C: reality, undeniable facts and the truth—_possibly?_

"_Renji_,"—the fact that he called him by his first name meant it was serious, getting his attention on the spot—"I'm going to be honest with you." Uryû spontaneously pondered over Renji's transgression about the two test subjects. "But first," _or maybe it was just over the pretty girl_? "do you remember the girl you were taking care of when she first arrived here about eight or so weeks ago?"

"Huh?" he stopped mid light. "Yeah I remember her—but so what? Did they ever mention who escaped?"

"_Rukia _was her name, am I correct?"

Renji looked at him blankly, a glaze in his eye, almost like he had inhaled marijuana instead of tar just then, but the chord Ishida struck did not run deep at first. He did not flinch when the name was said, but the extra intake of smoke caused Abarai to choke on the fumes which he consumed selfishly. An interesting tip-off—a small tactical situation such as this shouldn't cause this much strife on the redhead's psyche.

A flicker of interest within his sharp eyes passed before him like a sparrow in flight prior to the swell of coughing; the glass between Ishida's eyes and the actor choosing to perform or not wasn't able to distort his interest either. _He had noticed_. Uryû's crisp cobalt eyes watched curiously and critically as the man across from him swallowed more smoke than the _Titanic_ took on water, coughing crudely but unable to say anything in response, which was odd for him.

Indirectly, surreptitiously, Renji had been caught off guard. Interesting.

"I'll assume that's a yes?" asked Uryû, reaching for some paperwork off to the side. "I mentioned it earlier at our meeting, but you cut me off. It was test subjects 15 and 14 that evaded capture. Ichigo Kurosaki and Rukia Kuchiki."

Possessing an excellent mind shouldn't be this much of a headache, but any wager Uryû bet on with this in mind he would have lost miserably. His surveillance over the footage from earlier that morning made knights storming a castle look like amateurs. But those knights didn't have _real_ assault weaponry. The test subjects had been molded to fit in the palm of the company's hand, but watching the high definition recordings they did not act like they had just been weaned off narcotics. And in the realm of now, after his coughing had subsided, Uryû imagined a giant exclamation point over Renji's head when he said those two names. _One name?_ He raised an eyebrow.

"I thought you knew who they were. Who escaped I mean." He was actually surprised when Renji shook his head—how had he _not_ been informed with all the paperwork flying around everywhere and the whispers and rumors cluttering every corridor and private office?

The ashes were snuffed on his heel. "This is why I want to know what the hell is going on! Why am _I_ only finding out about this now?! How the hell—?"

"I can't answer why you're only finding out about these things now, but I've clued you in better, haven't I?" The smoker stared at him like he had two heads. "About the girl who's pregnant?"

He gave a sly sideways glance towards the other man before bowing over his papers to reread information he might have missed. "Seven weeks, four days." Ishida stood up like a man who had a royal flush and was about to hit it big in Vegas. He loosened his tie gallantly, pulling out the lapels. "Tell me, I know you had a sort of relationship with test subject 14, but what did you do exactly?"

"_I_ . . ."

_Inside it was impossible to sift through the colors delved in and out of his fairly moral demeanor. A degenerate drum stopped him dead. He felt dead, lifeless, a strange feeling for him since it never happened before. Not when another person, specifically a woman, was mentioned. His throat was dry, he needed some whiskey_. _What's going to happen to her?_

"_I_ . . ." Renji stammered harshly. Ishida had thrown him for one _hell_ of a loop. Ishida made it seem like their relationship was highly sexualized à la S&M and he'd been caught in the act of seducing her. Mulling over that idea, a hand on his chin as he thought briefly, the redhead replied, "That girl . . . Rukia . . . I guess you could say I was her caretaker when she first arrived here. I watched over her off and on for at least four or five weeks. Then I was told she would be moved and my job was complete."

What was portrayed on the outside was a casually low-key aloofness. But under his skin, Renji's mind hit higher notes from the crescendo of thoughts going through his head than an opera singer ever could. _She escaped?!_ _She's pregnant?!_ He couldn't believe it. "She's the one you said who was pregnant?"

Without his cigarette and its smoke to keep the fox away, he was defenseless. Renji wasn't facing Uryû at this point, probably too busy attempting to dissect what his angle could be as the genius closed in on him.

And as bad, as cruel as it was, in a way Uryû was playing with his co-worker's emotions now. Glass appeared to have shattered in his menagerie, crashing out of the sky and falling into a mud-thickened jungle. He _thought _Abarai had an attachment to the test subject—he wasn't acting at this point. He wasn't lying. He already knew Renji's affiliation with test subject 14 when she was under his care, pushing his buttons was just more fun. But now it was time to up the ante.

This _was_ the truth he had wanted after all.

"You seem overly concerned for her," Uryû mused, teasing as a hand clasped down on Renji's shoulder. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you liked Rukia a fair amount. Are you worried?"

_Is that why I "had" sex with her?_

"_Nil desperandum_ my friend," Uryû said with a pleasant smile, shrugging slightly as he crossed to a desk close to where Abarai was standing. He opened a drawer and rummaged through it.

Renji turned his head and looked over his shoulder._ Weary. Stiff. The life was drained out of_ _him_. "What?" his voice managed to rasp.

"It's Latin. It means "_never despair_."" He found and pulled out a large folder and opened it on the desk. Two pictures were harvested from its middle and Renji was shown test subject 14's image.

"She's the girl who escaped with that man. _Ichigo_ _Kurosaki_. The man she escaped with was her boyfriend. But what does that matter?" Ishida walked back to his leather chair, taking the photo away and ignoring any look Abarai gave him. "Our only responsibility right now is to bring them back here for their own good. As for the girl, she's fled from us and we have to get her back or else she could be in serious trouble. She needs to be observed frequently, or at least we need to keep an eye on the child growing within her womb." He sat, letting the stuffed folder drop wherever he felt. With silence hanging in the air, Uryû added thoughtfully, "Oddly enough, I think things may turn out for the better, either sooner or later. So you shouldn't fret over these infantile things."

Something inside him snapped. _Fret?_ All Renji did was give into the anesthesia pumping into his veins as soon as he walked into this wireless metallic coffin. Renji's face went red, but more from a hot flash of anger than embarrassment. "_Concerned_?" he growled out, a dog barking viciously. Yes, he did get the answers he wanted and realistically needed for his own sanity, but what really made him angry was how he had felt when Ishida basically declared he liked Ru—no, _test subject 14_. Ishida knew damned well nothing could happen between them, bastard. Test subjects were undesirables. Vicious, stealthy, gorgeous beings that could do anything.

"_You idiot!_" he shouted, making Uryû slightly jump, "I don't have feelings for that damned test subject! She means nothing to me." He paused, settling in to his uproar, wondering if that really was true. "You know what they are, Ishida. I was just surprised that _she_ was the pregnant girl. And you're the one who did it?" There was even more anger in this.

"Correct," he said without looking at him, lifting up the corners of pages with indications and notes. "She was partially induced and mostly out of it when I gave her the shot. Though I did not personally do the job if that's what you're inferring."

Renji breathed carefully as their eyes met. The glint from Uryû's glasses against the glow of random electronics made him look suspicious and untrustworthy. How comical, seeing as it was his name that was the danger zone. Renji's rage ended in an exasperated sigh. "I thought it was test subject 12 who got pregnant at first. They _love_ toying with her." He folded his arms again, "But a lot of good this does us now, we have to track their asses down."

"_Unfortunately_, we also have _other_ matters to deal with on hand. _These messes just keep piling up and up _. . ." Ishida grumbled softly as his screen dinged and single-shot images plastered into every square inch of monitor there was again. Renji leaned against the door frame. Bloodied bed sheets and a room for love making had been dumped on by red paint cans of blood. A girl's body was dismembered on the stained carpet, a sheet flimsily covered over her stomach, breasts bare, legs twisted from the fall.

The pictures alluded very much to the CSI and SVU crime television dramas Renji sporadically watched from time to time, and all the garnished butchery they remarkably fit into forty-five minutes. A creeping pitter-patter was felt in the back of his mind as he slipped away. It was all according to plan—well, except for this one unfortunate casualty. This shouldn't have—and would not—ever happen again as long as the being responsible remained breathing. It may not have been Renji's job to punish those who committed serious crimes against humanity, but there would be more than a slap on the wrist upon arriving back at headquarters. _He is in so much trouble when he comes back . . ._

Walking away, putting the half-used cigarette back into his mouth, all he could think about were the test subjects. Where they were, what they were doing, every thought possible walked on by. _Kurosaki and_—his eyes flared as something else hit him hard.

He ran back into the metallic coffin. "_Kuchiki__,_ you said?"

"There's no relation." Uryû said assuring, not realizing he had even left. "It's just a very odd coincidence."

"_Pff_. I don't believe in coincidences," Renji muttered, leaving Ishida to his remaining work. "Update me more when you can."

There was a grunt of agreement before the door to his cyborg shut. A fist-full of thoughts swarming through his head sounded like wasps on a murder spree. Hanging on to the past was going to kill him. _I never thought the girl I fell into bed with would be the one to get pregnant._

No chance in hell this was a coincidence. He didn't like this damn thing one bit.

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><p>Pit stops sucked. Pit stops sucked even more when your girlfriend starts hyperventilating for no reason and starts to get sick in your very expensive stolen Lamborghini Gallardo. They didn't even make it out of the <em>driveway<em>. Luckily this didn't happen, _thank God_, and they had managed to find the convenience store near the pit stop so they could get their map and be on their way. What to expect when you're not expecting is always a bitch. He could hear her coughing and gagging on the muck from her insides, his mind storming from the thrum of locusts screaming through his skull.

Several people had walked by, plastic bags crinkling as they hurried on, increasing their pace every time when they heard the gagging and then raucous yelling at the tall handsome man with bright locks standing rigid as berating was aimed at his spine.

"What?!" Ichigo screamed when the shoppers had fled, "You're pregnant!?" He was standing outside the bathroom door, practically shouting at it. The sound of gagging and coughing from behind the door made him cringe, making him turn his head away. He was nauseated and slightly disgusted.

"I said I _think _I'm pregnant!" Rukia screeched annoyed, her face still next to the basin of the toilet. Her eyes went wide, and a hand flew to her mouth as she began to gag again.

"How can you tell?"

"I don't know—let's just say I _missed _something important."

He stood there dumbfounded. "What?" he said baffled.

She sighed. "_Never mind . . . ._" Men were so ignorant.

Ichigo turned around and leaned his back against the wall, a foot propped up on it. His hands were in his jacket pockets, returned to him since he didn't exactly want that to have been spewed all over by her vomit, his reddened eyes from lack of sleep drifting nowhere in particular as he thought of what to say to her next. Ichigo let his head rest on the hard wood, and his eyes shifted to the door on his right. "But this doesn't make any sense," he said in a lower voice, "we haven't had sex in like, a _really _long time."

Inside of the bathroom, Rukia drew in a long breath before breathing it out again. It was true. They really hadn't done anything extreme in . . . perhaps . . . ? _Dammit_. In all honestly, their sex life hadn't been so crazy over the past four months. Enough went on that anything including a bed, some sheets, and various other things the person writing this story doesn't want to think about, was pushed aside. Either they were too busy, both not interested at the same time, arguing . . . _a lot_—besides, she would have been a tad bit more plump if she was preg . . . _Dammit_.

Rukia pinched the bridge of her nose. She really shouldn't be thinking about this so hard. Actually, why was she even going straight to this answer for her problematic memory? It was just something stupid that popped in her head, everybody has stupidity fall upon them. She had had many stupid ideas, actions and thoughts in the past—not that any of them had anything to do with the current situation. Now she was making mental excuses from straying away from her current affair. There was no chance—_no chance in _Hell _she was pregnant_. It was _impossible_.

"It's probably just a mistake, my hormones are probably all off from the drugs and IV's dripping into my system."

"Don't even make me think about that," Ichigo said with a twinge of pain in his voice. "God only knows what they did to us."

"We'll just have to figure it out then." She wiped her mouth and flushed the grim-stained toilet with her foot.

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><p>Sado's convenient store? You can't miss it! And why to God shouldn't they have? A family-owned branch that sold pharmaceuticals and other in-store items much too overpriced to bother being sold there, when they could be at least three dollars cheaper at a Walmart, was an easy walk a ways from the pit stop. They would have gone somewhere else to make time and distance away from the Company, but they were on a schedule here, no time to try and find out what the hell a Walmart even was.<p>

The store was small, too cozy, and _motherly_ to an extent where they actually sold doilies. Where the fugitives stood wasn't near the neat lace items, but where condoms were sold in twenty-five different varieties. Oh, and pregnancy tests.

Rukia stared at the little box with fear. Her hand wasn't shaking, but she was trembling on the inside. Ichigo, who was standing somewhat behind her trying to look around casually as uncomfortable and awkward as he felt in the feminine section, bent down over her shoulder and breathed into her ear.

"Are you sure this is going to work?"

"It should. It has to," she said, biting her bottom lip.

"Good, 'cause I feel awkward in this section." He rose to his full height and walked around her, continuing down the aisle. "I'm gonna look at a sports magazine or something . . ." When he walked around the corner, Rukia could see the tension releasing itself from his muscles as he left the feminine aisle. This might have brought a smile of her face at another time, but now she couldn't allow herself to even imagine what such a thing might look like. _I can't be pregnant, I just can't! _

She could sense that Ichigo was nervous too. Sometimes his emotions buried so deep into her skin it felt like a sunburn. This was one of those times where she could feel their sting. She knew Ichigo would not want to have this child—especially if it wasn't his.

They couldn't go to a hospital, between cameras, names, writing down their information and whereabouts . . . it would be a disaster. They would most certainly be captured again if they went there. Even if some of the _good _doctors actually wanted to help her. Rukia had no idea even how far along she was with her pregnancy. Obviously it wasn't three months, she would definitely start to show then. But even if she decided to go through with this, what would happen between her and Ichigo? Would he actually commit to something like this? _Could _he? Strangely enough, she had never really thought about raising a family with Ichigo before. They had known each other since college and been together for years, but not once had he ever mentioned he wanted to start a family with her.

He wanted to marry her, he had told her a dozen or more times, especially when they went out to a bar. He wasn't much of a heavy drinker like his father, but a few shots and he was alleviated to the height of a kite. He would tell her how badly he wanted to be with her for the rest of their lives, but unfortunately with financial problems and cruel unemployment, there was no ring. Just promises for a better future, which made her smile even to this day.

When Ichigo could find work, it was on and off. He had worked as a waiter for a while, but the restaurant went out of business, so he lost his job. This actually happened twice. He was still looking into something for the arts, which was what he had majored in, as odd as it seemed for his personality. Art designer, stage designer, drawing, photography, but he never got a bite. It was more than frustrating.

His father was a medical doctor and could do everything except major surgery, so at first it seemed as if his family was doing pretty well. For a while at least. When Ichigo's mother Masaki died, Isshin, his father, became distraught. The death had been so sudden, and had taken its toll on the family and their fairly bright outcome. Isshin began to drink, and their ecosystem of fair life drowned. The pool of money meant for other things dwindled, people stopped coming to their family's clinic, and above all Isshin blamed Ichigo for Masaki's death.

The worst part was that he believed it too.

Rukia, well, was fairly wealthy to an extent, and could easily afford something as simple as a wedding. A noble rich girl of sorts, but the thing she lacked was a family to come home to, or even a good friend. This was how it had been for years. So Rukia had accepted that she would remain alone. At least until that moonlit night when their fates crossed, and they had almost been joined at the hip ever since. Marriage would be an easy bill to pay off compared to other things.

But Ichigo looked horrified when she offered. He acted mortally offended when she suggested, said he would be a laughing stock if he let her pay it all. He wouldn't let her have that burden to shoulder.

_"What good is a man if he can't support his wife?" he had said hotly, loudly placing his glass back on the wooden bar._

_"What good is a wife if she can't help out once and a while?" she said back to tease him. _

_He growled, rubbing his face. "I'm serious, Rukia. I don't want you to pay for the entire wedding. If anything, we'll pay for it together, not alone." He paused. "That's what marriage is supposed to be about, right? Helping out your partner with crap like that?"_

_She gave a small laugh and kissed his cheek, not caring who saw. "Something like that."_

If she was pregnant, then this would test their bond and relationship to the fullest. On the other hand, if she _was _pregnant . . . Rukia thought of one other thing as well, but she wasn't so cruel that she could bring herself to do it. She didn't know how.

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><p><strong>I realized while writing this chapter I had been spelling Renji's last name wrong. oops. I guess when you think about it "Abarai" and "samurai" have the same ending, and are both japanese. *facepalm*<strong>


	7. Perspective

_**Hello all! A new chapter before the end of the month. Enjoy.**_

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><p><em>A young voice emerged from the belly of a fattened beast. Arriving from some desolate part of the forest, a warmed body with cheeks sprinkled from flecks of sunlight staggered under bows of etched shale-colored soapstone. A heroic knight in silver-plated armor awaited orders patiently, cleansing his impulsively elegant mind. His call of duty to protect sandy blonde princesses and slay dragons whom were much too capricious to understand fate falling out of their talons and into a palm like a star beholding the sun, was held on hold. Returning to the kingdom until further notice, blade bared as he knelt down in respect, the king would soon speak<em> . . .

"Daddy, why don't you shave?"

_Or_, at least that's what Isshin thought rampantly as he looked down at his eight-year-old son with amused bewilderment.

Wandering away from his mother's emerald eyes, innocence had taken him away from the treacherous inferno of baking and instead discovered something else more fascinating. Caught in the bathroom together while his father groomed himself carefully, the mirror reflected Ichigo and bounced it back into the living world. Dark sable eyes swelled. With his attention wavering, Isshin casually fixed himself up quickly—this opportunity to bond with his child would stand out as a strangely fun pre-pre "birds-and-bees" talk.

Ichigo's large brown eyes lit up again. "Tatsuki-_chan's_ dad said to her that he has to be "smoother than a turtle's shell" for work, so don't you have to do that too?"

"Is that so?" Isshin smiled with a grin large enough to reach the sun. "Want to know why I don't have to?" He looked back and forth around the bathroom making sure no one was around before he kneeled down to Ichigo's height. "_Because_," he said in a low voice, a hand next to his mouth while pretending eavesdroppers were hiding in corners, "your mother says I look handsome! Isn't that something!" A large hand fluffed the short hair on Ichigo's head like a mechanic buffing out a smudge. Smiling through his eyes as well as his heart, his father added jovially, "Someday when you have facial hair Ichigo you can grow a beautiful beard like me, and lovely ladies will fan all over you! Ha, ha!"

Ichigo smiled brightly with a warmth that equaled the tufts of orange hair on his head. A delightful laughter joined with his father's hearty beat, one which was a little rough around the edges but tender and caring.

Lifted into the air like he was nothing more than a stuffed doll, Isshin rubbed his scruffy dark beard against Ichigo's cheek playfully while he carried the knight away. "Let's go see what your mother's cooking, hmm?"

"I want a mustache too when I get big, that way I can keep it forever!" There was laughter again from his father. The joy that resonated from his soul always remained within Ichigo's blood as an essence of love.

There was no restraint on his heart . . . _at least at the time . . . ._

* * *

><p>Ichigo<em> would not shut up<em> about waiting to shave his face off. Granted, the more he talked about it in Sado's the more Rukia was tempted to bust open a packet of razors and scrape it off herself, even if the security alarm went off when they traipsed out the entrance, the splashed blood across Ichigo's chin dripped onto the customers, and made them cower like squealing piglets being weaned away from their mother.

Rukia told him that if he was a real man he would do it the old fashioned way with a knife like cowboys in the West. Yet he _still_ could not find the right type of razor to clean his face with and it was clearly pissing both of them off. It was _not_ that hard to just pick _anything_.

Why he cried for such a specific item, she didn't give a crap. Japanese society was already hyped up on shaving as it was, but while they were stuck in the States maybe it didn't matter as much. Luckily her naturally creamy skin didn't need as much attention as the average Japanese woman might consider, and she was fine with keeping the nearly invisible hair on her face. Ichigo was just being a whining teenage girl in her perspective.

Dancing around the store, grabbing everything she thought they would need for the rest of the day—_perhaps_ _the next week?_—the young woman felt an absence in her mind and heart as she tried to ignore every emotion that was being targeted and aimed in her general direction via bow and arrow. She grabbed two iced coffees out of a freezer, knowing they would hit their limit at some point today, and spotting sunglasses grabbed a pair for her and Ichigo.

And being forced into this position wasn't easy at the same time. Now Rukia had to discover whether or not she was pregnant, _then_ find out what they were going to do after that. She hoped, prayed, _begged_ to any listening _shinigami_ for this answer to be false. It was a sketched circle of irritation eluding a rubber eraser. Until they got their map and moved out of the soon-to-be oncoming red-zone, they should hurry with buying whatever the hell they needed. _Quick_.

Luck was on their side in this fashion. A road map for the general area wasn't the first thing she came across, but a road atlas of the entire country was close enough. When Rukia rounded the store at least four times and _still_ found Ichigo looking at razors, she threw the first packet she saw into the basket as blood-marred nails clutched into his wrist, pulling him away. "We don't have time for this!"

Whatever the hell fit into her little basket was dumped on the yellow-aged counter. The fairly muscled cashier began scanning a few less-than-exciting magazines about celebrities and gardening, and some other random reading material which were added to the pile in hurried fashion. Ichigo had the nerve to spot and grab _Playboy_ magazine.

The wicked glare she gave him would have frozen the world over. Might have saved them the trouble too. "_What?_ I'm gonna be bored, I might as well read something that has good articles in it," Ichigo grumbled in his defense.

The tall dark skinned Mexican looked at them curiously before swiping their load and placing it into a blue sack Rukia also managed to grab. Warm brown eyes pondered them curiously as the small girl became antsy, yelling at the man she was with to hurry the hell up when he walked away. They were loud customers, but he knew he would never see them again. He had been born in Okinawa of course, and he knew right away they were Japanese from slight giveaway mannerisms oblivious customers might not notice—but he did. They may not have looked one hundred percent true to their culture, but the names were a dead giveaway.

The tan man with bright hair came back with a car magazine, one featuring a new heavily painted 2012 Lamborghini Gallardo on the cover.

There were enough bruises and light cuts on each face to sustain their own mug shots easily. A dog tag hung around his neck, blank side shown. If he was military, since he certainly had the build of a soldier, the guy was possibly a rogue. The woman was a little harder to decipher, perchance partner and ally, perhaps el Chupacabra by the way she was howling. Her top was not much of anything besides a shield for her chest. The scrap of fabric that was featured as an off-white skirt looked more like a used napkin, held by a clasped dingy belt. They were odd those two, yet complimented each other more than their attitudes showed.

The items were bagged, handed over, and she smiled politely while the man frowned contemptuously as he leaned on the counter. Ichigo put _Playboy_ back in front of the cashier named "Chad" the moment she was out of earshot and whispered, "Can I still get this?"

The ring of her voice shattered his eardrums from afar, quelling his urge for soft-core porn. He gave the employee more than what the actual cost was and rolled it into his back pocket. Rukia yelled more at him for his choice, Ichigo reiterating there would be no harm done. "While you're pleasuring yourself with plants, I'll be learning how to do the opposite." A groan from her side. "Besides, don't you have something you need to take care of?" He motioned to the bag which held the pregnancy tester, his eyes blistering from the intense heat of midday.

It was comical in a lovely way—Rukia had forgotten she needed to be worried.

* * *

><p>She was silent for a few minutes. Two. Three. Five. <em>Seven<em>. He didn't know how the hell these things worked but once the clock at the pit stop hit seven minutes exactly he shouted. "_Well?!_"

"I'm . . . I'm not pregnant . . ." she managed to get out through the door.

That sentence had enough power as a command from a king in a final decisive strategy while in battle. Her answer removed all faulty accusations that Ichigo had somehow done it with Rukia when they were captured and he was somehow the father. The small process of freeing him from mutual sin was ecstasy. The bricks were removed from his chest and he no longer felt like Atlas. Ichigo sighed out a huge relief. The part of him that felt responsible was free of trouble.

Inside her small cocoon she was so tied up that the words came out as a riddle. And the riddle was trying to get out of this mess.

The wand tested _positive_. Not negative as she had hoped.

Pregnant. _Pregnant?!_

Rukia's breath cut off and sunk teeth into her knuckle to hide the smothered cry. The red plus couldn't be accurate, the thing _must_ be broken! What was she going to do, what was she going to do?!

The whoosh of air out of his mouth sounded like a deflating a balloon. She heard him awkwardly chuckle, the nerves inside him releasing from the tight knot she knew was inside him. "Well, that's . . . good."

She knew laughter was an abandoned hope from now on.

_What was she going to do _. . . ?

* * *

><p><em>The conundrum was a simple one: Why do you fight?<em>

Driving was _murder_, it literally could not be more painful than a stab to the gut or blow to the jaw. The Lamborghini hadn't rolled more than a quarter mile before halting, but it made an allusion they were sightseeing or lost. The true illusion was Ichigo wanted a quiet spot to was nearing two o'clock in the afternoon while they paused under a shaded awning attached to a small shop, this one a closed-for-holiday grocery stand near the pit stop and farthest from tiny discreet security cameras. Best of all out of sight from the eyes of suspicious onlookers. Hopefully a computer-hacked satellite wouldn't be peeping on their quandary either.

_What?_

Minutes ticked. Minutes cracked harder than a boiled egg. The sun came to bear down on the fugitives and Ichigo swore the atlas map sizzled on the hood while he worked over it. Rukia felt like she was bloated from heat and fanned herself with a stolen newspaper nabbed from a broken machine. She sat on an aged Adirondack chair and propped her feet up on a flowerbox attached to the windowsill, attempting to cool herself without success.

_What do you mean, "Why do I fight?"_

Ichigo took a swig of his coffee to help him stay awake. The staying awake part was starting to get to him, along with the anticipation of where they would move on next. What he read on the map felt alien to him for some unfamiliar reason. It was the same as earlier while they were in Sado's, reading labels and magazine covers. Ichigo knew what he was reading was correct, but felt disconnected as if seen through slotted blinds. The full picture wasn't there, and he was getting miffed for not understanding—_he was a genius_ _now, hello_!

This was more of a bitch than taking that prick's blow this morning; matter-of-fact he hadn't even really thought to stare at where he had gotten hit in the face, but took it like a champ for the most part. Did Rukia manage to pick up any medicine? He had been too worried about the appearance of his facial hair than how his swollen yellow-purple minced cheek might have been. Now that he was _thinking_ about it he could feel the damaged nerves and their weakened signals jittery from titillating blood cells clearing the "blemish" off his face. He had every right to mumble "ow."

He scratched at the thin mustache he might have found exciting when he was a child, but now the idea disgusted him. He brushed his fingers gently to the tiny scar on his right cheek, shifting his aviator shades out of place. Ichigo actually decided that if there was one thing he could actually hate about his face, he would choose the facial hair over the mark under his cheekbone; he was that dead-set against having no association with this father, which was a pity. There was an abridged time that he could remember being happy with his family, his _full_ family, but all Ichigo had left were his sisters Karin and Yuzu. And Rukia too, of course. She was stuck here with him and they were both shipped over like ripe pigs to a meat packing plant.

Only they weren't for sale.

Ichigo lost consciousness when it came to staring at the map, and asked himself while his mind radically worked an escape route how they were to ultimately survive.

He lifted the glass to his lips, realizing it was already dry. Ichigo tossed it into the desert with a flick of his marked wrist. Everything was dry at this time. The air, the sand, the folly of his unsteady relationship with Rukia having the misfortune of kicking him in the hippocampus as it all suddenly was coming back to him.

And the thought of Rukia being pregnant scared the shit out of him. Not that he wasn't confident what she said was the truth, he just couldn't think of _why_ she would be. There just _was_ no explanation. No clues to follow.

A clock that chimed with the singing of a Northern cardinal startled him, and Rukia, who had actually dozed off, sprung back to life, dark blue eyes edgy with malice, whipping a pistol out of some dark bodily orifice he didn't see. "What just happened?" she spoke with alarmed tension, on the cusp of AWOL-mode again, pointing her weapon at the now silent Audubon clock.

Ichigo actually managed to smirk from some twisted laughter hiding in his stomach. "It was just a fucking clock. Scared me too."

He managed to pick a route randomly before putting the map back in its atlas. Ichigo didn't know where they were to go, but the seductive purr of the Gallardo was a lush for wanting him inside it.

With the seat's leather interior and darkened windows, he would have fallen asleep at the wheel if Rukia wasn't present.

In reality, she wasn't.

The exception was her physical body; Rukia struck out hard and slept like she was dead.

* * *

><p>The knock of each tick sounded like a steady chop against the bark of an aged tree. He was being difficult, and her time was being wasted. She just asked him a simple question, no need to regard her intentions as hostile.<p>

"_Why?_" his breath came out in short rasps. He repeated the word like the meaning itself wasn't obvious. Teeth snapped at her like a Great White Shark's, and she was the fresh bloody meat in his nostrils. _"Because I don't have any other choice, damn it!"_

She watched him closely as his fists clenched together. Pain was driven throughout his system, and his face sweltered from the creep of death. The test subject screamed. Very brutally.

Her observant face neutral, he came out of shock several minutes later. His muscles deemed well under the stress. They looked as if he were lifting weights at a gym, weights that would tear the muscle from bone if under too much stress that is. The willpower of this one was overbearing itself into a territory that needed at least a few rounds of ammunition before heading in.

But this man was no cheeky bounty hunter or mafia mastermind, he was simply a boy.

Just one in a man's body.

The woman looked onward bored. Her subject was boring, boring her to tears, a hand covering her mouth as she yawned for the tenth time in six minutes. This sought after "experiment" of theirs was proving too much of a nuisance the more he sat confined in his smoking chair. All of the many wondrous things she should have chosen to do _other_ than babysit this mouthy brat, but no. Besides, it had been a while; there wasn't enough blood flow between them.

_They needed to talk._

She tapped her index finger against her temple, matching the beat of her silver watch. She was almost eyelevel with him in her own chair, but it didn't matter. "I'm just asking you a simple question, _15_. I can't have you burn out before I get that answer, do you understand?"

He said nothing. Ignoring her. Proving much like a child. _Typical_.

She tried a new approach.

"The cross you bear is a simple one: Pay no attention to the demons in your mind. Relax." She gestured figuratively. "Give up."

"Fuck you," he said in reply.

That ruffled her nonexistent feathers.

The poised lady continued, a hair strand darting out of her neat bun. "Did you know that when I dreamed of us meeting again like this it wasn't as corruptible to your flesh? You're skin's a little flayed; I don't think many other women will appreciate skin deformities on a man with your attractive stature. But anyway I'll keep it simple. You must understand we're only trying to help you achieve maximum potential, Ichigo. _You won't regret it._"

"_Go. To. Hell_." He may have been touched by electric fire, but Ichigo made sure to enunciate each word carefully so she could wrap it with a bow around her fucking brain.

Their eyes met with a head-on collision, and she jumped from her seat. Pounced on him like a cougar.

She stretched his collar and put a stylish boot between his knees, giving the impression that it would soon crush his integrity and gems if he kept on.

Her face to his, steam blowing out her nose like a train ready to roll.

The bored demeanor wore off. There was something she was after he realized, and she would get it or else.

"Are you doing this just to piss me off, _boy_?"

"Look _sweetie_, I'm not a boy, and if you could kindly remove your heel—"

She cut him off. "You have a peculiar talent, Ichigo. I want to understand that power more in depth. We are _all_ curious as to what it is you exactly possess."

He sat quietly for a moment, like a scolded child sent to a corner of the room caught smuggling cookies. Then, "What I possess isn't any talent. It's a curse meant only to torment _me_. Nobody else. So you can stick that offer of yours up your sweet behind, _Rukia_." His eyes had darkened from the seduction he poorly laid on her, having his balls crushed under her heel, startling him and shooting a painful yelp into the room worse than others before.

"_You seem to be forgetting that's not an option in the slightest_." Rukia narrowed her eyes. "Besides, my _sweet behind_ belongs to someone else." She threw him back into his seat though he could not move much at all. Ichigo's head snapped against the metal headboard.

He grumbled and grimaced from the pain between his thighs, curling insults and throwing them out like a pitcher on the mound under his breath. She eyed him wearily. He didn't look up at her again.

The matters at hand were becoming . . . well, _complicated_.

Rukia shook her head disapprovingly. The least effort she could make to draw him to her before this session was up was beyond her tactical skills. She could keep tossing him around like a rag doll with some cleverly planned words, maybe _that_ would draw his attention.

Rukia yawned. _Eleven_.

_Screw it. _

"You all wig out for no real reason except to draw attention to yourselves. _Boys I mean_," she added when her plaything actually acknowledged her jaunty words. Rukia grabbed him by the scalp, forcing their eyes to lock on one another's.

"_But boys are so much more fun to fool around with, don't you think_?"

And she touched him, the cavity where his heart used to beat proudly.

Test subject 15 had cracked lips and blood in between them. The clothes he wore coming in here were bloody, heavily stained with a thick scent. He had a sheen of light sweat covering his skin, bruises on his face and lower arms, as if he tried to protect himself from dog attacks. His deep brown eyes looked vicarious, but also empty simultaneously. He needed to be beaten better or else his resolve to fight would never be broken.

_She should just kill him right now and get it over with_.

Rukia pulled a gun out from behind her back and brought it to his temple, ready to pull if he tried anything cute. He had one chance to give himself to her. He didn't need to know that there was only one bullet somewhere within the revolver. Holding his eyes, not blinking, the gun not wavering, he continued to instigate her with no more than a subterranean look.

"They'll _slaughter_ _you_, you know. Expose you for the freak you are. Make the right choice here, Ichigo. Don't make me shoot you." She sounded like she was having a second thought on playing God.

He smiled.

Rukia cocked her weapon in response. "Too bad. To think I used to like you."

_Sudden blackout_.

She shot the dark in front of her, but lost before she knew it. Amid absolute confusion via bright day into dense night, the pop from the gun hadn't produced a bullet. Rukia stepped back, gun missing, no longer in her hand. She was unarmed and defenseless.

The smell of her blood intoxicating him with strife, it had punctured his nostrils and mind with the will for her to shoot him. _But his will to fight was too strong_.

Ichigo would escape and kill her in cold blood instead.

That ghastly future was to come any second.

And it did.

He sank his teeth into her and won the fight without leaving his seat. Rukia grunted, ended up with a bullet as her eyes shot up to see what midnight on a cloudless night really looked like. They each shared the similar color of a deep blue night, and Rukia slumped on what only felt like black butterfly wings. She was consumed by her partner, revenge for grief she had caused.

_Rukia_.

The hole in her head bled bright red tendrils down her face. Death was as beautiful as it was silent.

_Rukia_.

A sharp rap on the glass startled her, breaking the spell of her dream. "Rukia." She woke up to knocking on her side. Beating the window like a bear trapped in a cage.

Rukia gasped, snapping forward and aimlessly clutching whatever surrounded her.

"Okay, it's all set."

There was a moment where she forgot where she was, _who_ she was, and it felt like it wasn't the first time either. Hesitant to what exactly was going on, her senses agitated Rukia like a flounder minus saltwater. Ichigo's weathered voice echoed in her ears. The heady pictures in her mind were quickly evaporating into wisps of smoke, some literally charring the corners so the damage would be permanently forgotten. The things dreams could do to the mind.

What had happened, what had occurred in her most recent escapade into REM sleep escaped her like fizz from opening a cola bottle; fresh, yet disappointing from the first sip.

_No memory she had fallen asleep_. The prim picturesque vision Rukia only half-recollected now deserted itself when confronted by an opposing outside force. Ichigo had distracted her enough to overlook her fading dream. Not that it mattered anyhow. Guns, test subjects, torture—it was all part of the past they were trying to run away from, no wonder it had popped up.

The most important piece of the picture calmly smoldering into hot white ashes was the idea that Rukia had wanted to kill Ichigo. And that she was working _with_ the Company. That was fucked in itself.

To the end, her dream made absolutely no sense.

Hot dry air welled into the Lamborghini when the door flew up, and there was no bucket to throw it back out. She deduced by the Lamborghini's immediate surroundings they had parked in front of some motel lodge, sun rays hazing low behind the building, somewhat beginning to set. Ichigo appeared like magic, and her insides tightened. She grew ill from his presence when she remembered.

He reached in to grab the case full of money but his eyes flashed to her instead. He frowned, concerned. Her face had been pat with talcum powder. "You don't look good. Are you okay?"

The bad feeling in her chest swelled. So much emotion wanting to tell him the truth. "I'm fine," she said in a calm, normal tone. Lying through her teeth.

He raised his eyebrows. "You sure? You're not getting sick again, are you?" He cupped her face in his hand trying to feel for warmth. "You look really pale."

The touch of his hand made her blush for some reason—he must have felt _that _if he didn't see it creeping on her cheeks.

_He_ _knew_. He _had_ to know. He could see her well enough. If he dropped his hand a little lower, Ichigo would be able to feel her radical heartbeat. Rukia wouldn't be able to pull this off—why on earth had she lied to him?!

The word flashed across her mind.

_Pregnant_.

Her body was so close to his, he had to notice _something _was off with her!

"_I'm_ _fine_," Rukia repeated harshly, brushing his hand off of her face.

She forced the door upward and jumped out. Her legs felt shaky on the heated pavement, cooking her feet like a chef cooking an egg. He watched her wander under the awning and into the shade, impulsively searching for its darkest corner to hide in while Ichigo—_the hero_—stood out exposed in what was left of the hot sun. With her eyes closed, Rukia looked like she was about to throw up, lying of course to him about how she really felt, and when his hand touched her shoulder before she managed to flee, they were in the room, a back entrance available for a quick escape.

That first step into the room couldn't have been more awkward. It was a _dump_, in the greatest extent of the word. Whatever area on Earth that was shat on by other peoples' crap, it was in this room. Rukia couldn't count the years on her hand how old some of these objects might have been.

A disgraceful mat covered the floor. A random rectangular mirror with faux gold leaf. Wood panels on the left wall, an unflattering portrait of a lake with asymmetrical and poorly proportioned schooners—_definitely_ a starving artist's freebie—twin beds with ugly comforters, an older model TV set attached to the dresser, some mismatched lamps and only one very fat plush carpet-blue reclining chair—if it even reclined at all that is. But it had a bathroom and a shower. _Supposedly_.

Rukia glared out the corner of her eye. His mouth had been taped shut from the shock. Ichigo definitely knew how to pick 'em.

Not getting any younger, Ichigo took a cautious step forward like a lion would leap out at him from the open closet.

"Make sure it's safe under the bed, too," Rukia said with mock-care. "Maybe your beard will scare it off." Ichigo scoffed and put down their things. He grumbled at her sarcasm, took his sweet time taking off his jacket too. The imaginary lion hadn't even a chance to burp, too busy nodding off while Ichigo slowly stripped.

The leather of his jacket may have tasted better than he.

"Well. I'm going to take a shower!" he said finally, making sure his imaginary blinders were on as he tried to avoid catching fire from looking at the curtains. Or his scorned girlfriend.

"_What_?!"

Rukia screeched out the word worse than spinning tires against gravel. He was going to casually walk away from the atrocity of this room _and_ be the first one to take a shower?! Did it even exist?! "No way! I was going to take one! _Why do you get to take yours first_?"

Ichigo gave her a look that equaled one of a wolf whose odds were in his favor. He bent low over her, smirking a little. Her eyes burned like a crystallized fire as she gazed into darker ones. Damn his height advantage! He was mocking her in several different ways and he was going to regret it.

He cocked his head to the side and brought his hand up as well. "Because, dear Rukia," patting her on the head and imagining her as a little bunny—driving her insane and wanting to slit his throat at the moment—gently, "Women like to take exceptionally long showers, a.k.a. _you_, while men—such as _myself_—are only in there for about ten minutes tops." He stopped petting his treasure and straightened his back.

_Death_. Death and annoyance was what he saw in her eyes. Ichigo could only laugh and shake his head before bending forward again and pressed his lips to her creased forehead. "Don't worry. I'll only be in there eight minutes at the most." He pulled away from her and turned on his heel. As he walked toward what was apparently a closet-bathroom, Rukia couldn't help but see how good he did look in those jeans. Whatever the hell they did to him at the Company, they did great.

Every bit of him was toned now.

He had somehow appeared taller than Rukia could remember which was strange. She was short obviously, but he was already a grown man, he couldn't have shot up two inches could he? The thought was cast aside, being drawn back to his appearance in a more desirable manner. Not lanky in any way, but muscled in a perfect taste for any woman's inner fantasy. Temptation and an opportunity to tackle Ichigo and throw him to the ugly pink-gray carpet dangled in front of her, but she ignored it instantly. No, not tonight. At least after they both cleaned and cleansed themselves with scorching hot water that steamed and ran down their backs like a cascading fresh waterfall. And they should at least try to use the water to clean their heads about the day they had had. Not to mention the two months taken away from their lives.

As she finally came back to her senses, Rukia needed a snippy something to say at him before he stepped into the shower. "You better not use up all the hot water!" Pause. ". . . Or the soap!"

_Wow, that was impressive_.

He was already in the bathroom shutting the door as her words sprayed out like an aerosol can. Ichigo popped his head back out. "Worry not, my love," he slyly dripped from his tongue, "I'll only use up most of it." Ichigo bashed his pretty dark eyelashes at her before closing the door completely, clicking when it finally locked. She stared after him, annoyance playing around her like a bashful new puppy, but her feeling capsized. She sighed in relief.

Alone in this tacky room for now might ease her mind.

But silence and emptiness poured into her heart as she searched for what she could not see in her stomach. Rukia laid a hand over her center, the motherly gesture gyrating a sickening feeling inside.

_I'm pregnant_, she thought again for the millionth time after learning from that unfaithful wand. "What am I going to do?"

_What _was_ she going to do?_

She heard the shower start, water spitting out in bullets. She fell to her knees, feeling numb. She had very little time to come up with a plan before Ichigo emerged cleaner than she could ever possibly hope to be now.

_What was she going to do? _

Did she have to come up with an answer at this moment on top of that? Was there a solid solution to this harboring problem?

_Yes_.

Rukia shook the thought away again.

She forced herself to stand; not give in to the darkness positioning a brick tower around her immediate reach. Her feelings were being rattled, her chest with a single line downward where her heart would eventually be carved out. Rukia was beginning to see the horizon of where her exhaustion, physical, mental, you name it, swelled.

Rukia paced around the room, shutting the blinds. She kicked over the suitcase. Those hundred dollar bills bothered her too, now that Ichigo had mentioned the whole _No Country For Old Men_ movie incident. There was so little amount of time before she exploded, her body no less being an invader. She felt like she was going mad in a matter of steps.

_"And the same goes for you, right? You'll tell me everything . . . always?"_

_Her smile was like a flower blooming open from the heat of the sun. "Of course."_

How could she have been so ignorantly _stupid_? Damn it all to hell, of all the things she could have agreed to Ichigo this morning . . . ! To tell him everything. _Always_. "'_Of course_'" she impersonated with the fury of a tropical monsoon.

This would knock her down like a California redwood, and there was no recovering from that.

Ichigo also. She couldn't forget him and his intentions later on. In a sense, he was one of her biggest enemies as well.

Her top problem was she didn't know if it was Ichigo's. That lone idea was a wound and struck her like a cobra. He would never go for this either, she knew him too well. It was a miserable thought that he may not trust her again once they were really free.

_It was a miserable thought that he might throw her in a ditch too, stimulated and sensing the power he possessed and gained training behind those snow white walls. Somehow she knew this in the back of her mind; knew how every human being had the potential to kill another weaker than he. _

_The something inside Ichigo, unfathomable right now, a dot pulsating with energy. Balanced with a darkness. _

Rukia rounded the bed, sat on it. Stood right back up, kept pacing the small tacky room. "What can I do to keep him from getting suspicious? Hell, my acting sucks anyway . . ."

Rukia was about to give up. The sun had definitely set by this hour, here in _America_, she thought in disbelief to herself. Somehow it had grown late. And Ichigo had been taking his syrupy-sweet time too, lying bastard. "_Eight minutes tops_," she spit.

She looked at her reflection when she passed by. God, she looked horrible. If Rukia had noticed sooner, she would have sworn it wasn't her. Just some other five-dollar-for-a-round girl staring back at her with eyes much too large. The clothes she wore needed to be thrown in the trash, the incriminating dog tag along with it.

The wand had made a dazzling appearance once her mind decided to become a stage, and she looked away from the watercolor reflection of herself.

The thought mortified her.

She couldn't see herself becoming a mother, refused to envision it. Rukia knew asking a mirror on the wall for answers wasn't going to give them answers, and neither was taking a bath and soaking in that same misery. She touched a hand to her forehead, closed her eyes.

She just . . . she needed _sleep . . . ._

* * *

><p>The bathroom door creaked open and steam emerged from it like a sauna. The mirror was completely fogged, but the man born forth from the rolling deep of heat was clean-shaven. A lagoon evaded the room and stifled the air with humidity. His hair had been quickly towel dried, limped from the maximized amount of steam, but thus he stood like a champion whom defeated the feral lion and wore its mane proudly around his neck. A white bath towel slung around his shoulders was close enough. The towel riding low around his hips was about to fall off. He knew, but he wasn't caring enough to tighten it either.<p>

Finding his voice, seductively he purred, "_Oh_, _Rukia_, I have a surprise for you."

Nothing but silence. He looked for her but saw an empty room. Felt a chill ride up his spine like a roller coaster.

_Gone_.

Before panic could settle down properly with a scream of thrill, or fear, he heard shallow breathing to his left. Sitting against the wall, head slumped against the peach wallpaper. She was drugged by the Sandman and knocked out completely. There hadn't been time to even take off her bloodstained clothes or shoes.

Ichigo felt a little jilted that he couldn't show off what he discovered while in the bathroom, but let his mood subside.

As soon as he carefully picked her up, her head rolled and fell onto his bare chest. She was completely knocked out and unaware of where she was right now. Rukia was limp in his arms, barely weighing anything. If she hadn't eaten so much at breakfast today he would say this girl was anorexic or at least bulimic because of the pit stop incident. Ichigo carried her over to one of the beds and removed her flats and the tucked sheets, covering her with them when her body settled down. Rukia moaned slightly when her cheek hit the soft cloth of the pillow, and he admired her sleeping form. Completely oblivious to him watching over her like a guardian. She was so relaxed he was almost jealous.

Without really meaning to, he sat watching her as she slept for a while longer. She hadn't moved an inch, but she was alive. He didn't know what he would have done if she hadn't saved his ass this morning. Or if she had drowned in that vat of water. A sigh was heaved as his head dropped onto a pillow, neck stiff and knotted from battering rams driving into his brain from over thinking nearly every critical aspect of their former lives. _The_ _Company. Home. His sisters_. _Japan. America. Rukia_.

He grabbed for the iced dog tag whose tongue licked the ultimate fear against his heart, but remembered it was in a wastebasket. With a glance at the clock, the first day of their new lives had begun three minutes before. Where did all that time in between go?

Ichigo yawned, light cut down before he felt his fingers switch off the lamp.

Sleep sunk its fangs into Ichigo's flesh as if it had never tasted the blood of a sinner like him before.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Comment, rate and REVIEW! Next chapter will hopefully come sooner than later *keeping fingers crossed* A very busy summer for me...the title comes from the idea of the perspectives Ichigo &amp; Rukia have gone through from their previous and past life before capture. <strong>_


	8. Breath of Life

**Hello all! It's been a while! (Almost a year since I posted last, sheesh). But saying that—I've finally graduated from college! A month ago to be exact, yay! I've been working on newer chapters, so I'm never not working on my story, just distractions. **

**My last semester was better than the first, and the title is derived from a song/dance I choreographed to for my college's dance club—it turned out to be the best in the show! It's on YouTube if anyone's interested. But as for the chapter title, as the bigger overall theme in my dance, it's the idea that we can't let depression swallow us up, no matter how difficult things can get. If we're consumed by it, we'll never be free. So here's the new chapter! The song/title is by Florence + the Machine.**

* * *

><p>Thunder scattered noise in the far distance. It was rumbling low and hungry, searching to sate an uncontrollable appetite. The wind rushed past his ears, shrieking as it ran away from the oncoming storm which still had miles to travel.<p>

Ichigo blinked at the abiding sea curling white-crested waves with a hammering blow to the stone and shell-beaten sand. Sinking back into the water to slam into it again with another booming force, the current rioted onto land as he only watched with amazement at the power of a distant storm.

Salt-specked hair too short to be easily tangled in the sway of air, Ichigo found himself standing in the middle of a large beach someplace he had never been before. The salt water leaped and drizzled fresh droplets on his face and clothing, shielded himself to not be blinded. Sun scorched and dry, the sand heated his soles as he progressed forward, almost beckoning the storm toward him as it covered a great sky.

It was dark and black, looming with power and soliciting clouds to join its sojourn on shore, bewitching them to hide the sun with a single breath. If it _was_ breathing, he knew it was, Ichigo found this newborn monster hungry with want.

Bowing to this great faceoff, staring dead into the maker of gods, wind lashed out past him rough from the tender waters, sand clouds kicking up spices from the earth. Ichigo laughed heartily, his lips puncturing the air with the words "_Bring it_." With the feel of wind whipping his coat tail back with angry might from the accepted challenge, his mesmerized brown eyes left the hulking opponent for a moment, sending off more fury from the floating baby.

He heard the call for him out somewhere within the sea and the hair on the back of his neck raised. A siren's call, or the wail of the wind? He didn't know. The eerily sung hymn reminded Ichigo of an infant wailing, but no one to tend for it's care. The melody had been lost on her beckoning shore. Men who had been entranced by these watery witches were known to walk to their doom and either be eaten by the monster on her jagged rocks or drowned trying to locate her song in the sea.

The voice wasn't necessarily calling to just any lost sailor, it was speaking directly to him. Ichigo alone on this sandy strip of nothingness.

His eyes darted past his contender, searching for that breath which he knew would be his tragic flaw.

Only the angry wind from his waiting foe prolonged Ichigo's search. But a childlike chatter caressed him out of battle once again.

The feel of his clothing, the pull it had on his body. Decorations glimmering on what he starkly wore drew him away from this hunt like the enticing smell of rich perfume on a lover.

Revealing some of his muscularity, the long-length of a _haori_, or at least it looked and slightly felt like one, presented itself on Ichigo as the color of ink. Feathery soft; tight but comfortable in all the right places; a cotton blend with silk had the nicest feeling on his body. With a front like a kimono, the dazzle expired and the glitz rubbed out as the bawling baby poured over the ocean out of boredom.

Ichigo noticed the long cape billowing out from behind, wind kicking up from the sea. Maroon-dabbed on the inside, it flared like fire torching the edges. Then in his right hand a weight appeared like magic.

In his hand he carried a sword.

It wasn't just any common sword—it was black as midnight on a moonless night, but even darker. It felt alive in his palm, humming, _breathing_, waiting to be swung. An essence that would be able to defeat his god-maker short leagues away.

The sleek shine glistened in the hot sun, the blade adding confidence to Ichigo's artillery. Long and charcoal colored, a broken chain at the base of the hilt, a _manji_ curved to protect his wrist.

Like daylight, the power flooded deeply into his veins and arteries, blood vessels heating up like embers from Vulcan's forge, smiting sharp enough to chink at the marrow in his bones. The beat of its livelihood resonated within his soul, like an erotic touch of flesh against flesh down his skin, sending out signals against his body like a grab of a handshake.

The rumble was about to begin when beats soft as a butterfly's wing drew his attention, pushing back and reversing the storm cloud's birth below the sun.

The ghostly breath of her hummed into his eardrums again, and what bore forth from the harrowing sea was indeed an enchantress.

She looked like a majestic mermaid rising out of the sea, silken sea-goddess hair waving and tumbling down in soft curls, sloping down her back and shoulders like a princess—no, there was no comparison. _A goddess _was the perfect word. _A beautiful goddess_. She _was_ beautiful. Eyes dazzling like emeralds which Lady Diana's could not compare. Smiling like she had been touched by an angel, or could have been one at this time. A goddess wrapped in tidal wave blue clothing, draped round her frame like that of a mistress from one of Leonardo Da Vinci's masterpieces. An appealing pearl colored cloth hung low under her shoulders, curling round elegant arms that drew him toward her.

Unlike Mary from the Bible, this woman who appeared to him bore no halo round her head, no beam of light shining down above her.

Only in his eyes reflected the essence of perfection and beauty.

He recognized who she was the moment her breath was released into the ocean.

"_Masaki_," he breathed out.

She rose with the sun which beat away the dark storm clouds, a reincarnation of Venus whom birthed mankind from her womb.

Ichigo felt his heart beating, dancing, warming with the light of oncoming day, a feeling of renewed love once forgotten flourishing as a flower grows. _Happiness_.

Her feet planted on the water as she found balance against the ripple of waves. With the ability of a saint or martyr, she stood on the calming sea as though it were nothing more than the thrum of clockwork. She beckoned him to move forward with an outstretched hand, and Ichigo raced into the water. He wouldn't lose this chance to catch up to his mother, and he wouldn't run away from her either.

"_Mom_!"

He was running on the water like Hermes, the waves holding him as if they were servants bowing down to their king.

Her arms were wide for the coming embrace, a delicate smile on her face the purity of life itself. "_Ichigo. . ._"

How it happened from millisecond into the next, he did not know. The ocean stilled, went silent until it left as a white noise. The spatter of droplets again reached out to his cheek and remained there, dots of red halting only after their quest had completed. Ichigo was now far, facing the complete picture of murder from a distance in full glorified gore.

Ichigo's eyes went dead from shock.

The sword sunk into her warm supple skin, sliding the weapon through her deeper until it completely split her stomach. The hilt banged into her flesh like a ram. Her lips drooped and eyes faded. "_Ichigo . . ._?"

Her scream was a siren's howl, forcing Ichigo to block his ears from fear they would rupture. Her flesh melted, her bony fingers withered away. The blood trickled slow, ruining her precious gown.

He shook as the words of her curse branded his mind.

"_How could you do this to me_?!"

Eye sockets dripping down her sallow cheeks, his flower bloomed and burned.

There was no real first breath taken before it all started to grow dark. Ichigo's tears weren't hidden when realization struck him in the back with a hatchet. He could see it all now with a cold precise vision. He could see the cream blue water where his mother's body had been thrown and buried under the black and brown dirt of guilt and betrayal of youth. The happiness was stolen out of his eyes that day, when her blood spilt on his clothes and couldn't be removed no matter how many times it had been scrubbed clean.

"I didn't mean to!" he cried out painfully, tears searing his vision. "_It was an accident_!"

With a piercing scream of agony Masaki was pulled under the water.

"_MOTHER_!" He ran forward only to be dragged thousands of miles back into the cold black waters of the river near where she had originally died. Tendrils latched around his arms and legs, pulling him down. "_NO!_ _MASAKI_!" It tightened around his torso when he tried to escape from drowning in the water but went blind from the dark. His screams went silent under the surface. Ichigo stopped thrashing and let the air in his lungs seep out. To die a death as pathetic as this, it was a perfect representation of how he was, and always would be.

He should have never let her go that day even if he was only a child at the time. Ichigo let himself be consumed by darkness, let it swallow him completely.

Day became evening; evening became night.

The waves grew silent. The birthing sea padded the shore with a constant beat of water.

_It wasn't cold like an ocean at nighttime,_ _but warm with the spill of blood . . ._

* * *

><p>With a twitch, Ichigo snapped awake gasping and bolted upright. The cold air was a surprising shock, adding to the shivers already running down his spine. Had snow fallen as a blanket while he slept? He grabbed his flesh shaking, freezing in a black hell believing he was still in the arms of a crushing ocean from his sweat-soaked skin and inability to breathe. Panting was the only thing he could somewhat accomplish at the moment, a sharp and ragged side-show attraction like a resurfaced victim found face down in a pond. His body shook uncontrollably as if suffering from overdose.<p>

Ichigo put a hand to the center of his chest. His heart stung:

_Beating. _

_Bruised. _

_Bleeding. _

_Broken_.

The source hammering his chest he knew by instinct, rocking his nerve as Ichigo's heart shook from the adrenaline rushing through his blood.

Hot tears that could have been forgiven as sweat dripped down his cheeks like heavy raindrops.

Ichigo's mind was warped within a jade fog. The airy, pleasant dreams he once knew as a child would never make their appearance again, no matter how much Ichigo prayed.

Guilty, he thought to himself in the dark corners of his petrified mind. Belittling himself as worthless and lacking the grace of a man. In these ice-coated sheets, in this black shadowy room, where hopefully God couldn't even see him, he allowed himself to be weak. Ichigo let the pent up sadness inside flow, tears falling shamefully.

_I always feel like this when I dream about her! When will it end?_

Ichigo sat in his bed swallowed up by loneliness. He wished for the embrace he sought in his dream, how he had hoped it would warm his heart once he finally touched her. _And how he longed for her touch again._ The feel of her—the smell of her skin like a garden of lilies. Masaki rightfully equaled and rivaled any goddess' statue in Athens. But that nightmarish ending had killed him inside. Ichigo slammed the heels of his palms into his eyes, rubbing them furiously to erase the pulsating memory.

Her image of death, this . . . _wraith_ . . . Masaki deserved better, even in his nightmares.

_If I can't protect her, what use am I?_

She never belonged here to begin with, nor should she be the torment of his remaining existence. What was difficult to assess in the end was also this: would the difference in which woman he cared about more torment him any less? In truth, Ichigo's heart wrenched for his mother. She was the Morning star and fell brightly as one. But then the other woman he loved more than anything kept pain also in the back of his mind—the loss of his true love. To him, Rukia was the Evening star—one whose life hung in a balance between the sun and moon during the draping of twilight across the sky. If he ever lost her . . . that would be the end to the cycle of his life.

Ichigo wiped away his pain, shivered. He realized he was still naked, towel undone loosely round his hips, shivered more from the cold and fear that was now laced in his blood. Ichigo never wanted the slow-burn taste of a cigarette so badly before in his life.

He glanced at the clock in spite of his nightmare. _5:23_ it screamed in floating red symbols glowing out of the recess of darkness. He groaned, rubbing his eyes again and decided to get up. _To live_ . . . _somehow_. The cold of morning had also shaken him awake. He removed dampened sheets from his skin and shifted out of bed like a corpse reanimated by witchcraft.

Ichigo found his muddle of clothes still in a clump on the bathroom floor.

He dressed slowly. There was no chance in Hell he was going back to sleep tonight. That bliss wasn't a luxury for Ichigo, and his eyes felt sore in the lagoon of dark.

He flicked the light on, blinding himself and hissed until his eyes adjusted. The man staring back at him looked awful, a catalogue model gone rogue. Ichigo's only avarice he approved was the lack of facial hair, maybe that his eyes weren't as bloodshot as he assumed they'd be.

Eyes made a lasting impression on Ichigo. If they looked the slightest bit off, it made him wary. But, sore eyes and all, maybe taking a peek at the sunrise wouldn't hurt him mentally too much either.

Ichigo felt the doorknob, looked back and saw as much as he could of Rukia, still asleep miraculously.

She looked so peaceful, not knowing of his fear. A true blessing. Ichigo felt warm streaks of sunrise on his face as he opened the door, finding solace. Though quickly that solace changed, trying to think of a way to piece what the shorn fragments of his life now were together bitterly.

As the door closed, on cue Rukia's eyes sprung open and she sat up in the bed like a pointed needle. A terrible feeling had washed over her entire body, soon gagging on the bile and poisonous rot clinging to her intestines. The sheets were off as she sprinted to the bathroom. Retching from behind the partially closed door wasn't enough comfort in case Ichigo woke up and heard her. The disease inside hurt more than any of the bruises covering her flesh. She rested her forehead against the tub basin and closed her eyes.

She reached. A clank. A flush.

The sound was unpleasant; a reminder of her situation.

_Oh god, I am pregnant_.

She needed to heave again.

How could she possibly deny this to herself now? Morning sickness seemed to be getting the best of her and it had _hardly_ been a day and a half. If it kept up Ichigo _would_ find out she'd lied to him, which couldn't happen. In fact, thinking about him now, she wondered how he hadn't heard her tryst with the toilet. He was a light sleeper.

_Abort-Abort-Abort_!

Her eyes squeezed shut.

A compelling urge to sink into water made Rukia slink to the tub, water streaming into it quickly as she stared at the gushing liquid with pallor.

It came to mind again . . . as much as she had been trying to suppress the demonic thought within her. _It's the only way_. Bullets of water became a furious swarm of hornets. The rush of sound allowed Rukia to think, think of how everything would end quickly once she had this "problem" taken care of.

_The only way._

_Yes_.

_The only solution_.

_Remove the disease_.

_To get away. _

_To be with Ichigo until the very end_.

"I need to tell him before it's too late."

Abortion may have been the choice she was going to take, but something else wouldn't allow plans to be changed.

_You can't_.

Rukia gasped as her head was forced into the tub, choking as water clogged her nose and throat—_Not again_! Her sopping head was yanked out, and she coughed violently as water exploded off her face. It dripped from her eyes and mouth—she couldn't see or breathe! "_Aaahh_!" Her natural instinct for survival kicked in this time, roughhoused the person behind her, letting them know she wouldn't be a victim.

Rukia's head was forced back under with malice.

She struggled to claw at the person forcing her beneath the hornet's nest, but lashed at nothing. Fingers were tangled in her hair, she felt them, but the person wasn't behind her—_Ichigo?_! Did he snap?! Had he known all along?!

Rukia coughed, inhaling more water than a fish could ever hope. She would _not_ accept death this time around by drowning—_she would live_, _dammit_! She elbowed behind her, felt air circulate around like on a muggy day.

Her neck snapped up from below the surface, pulled up like balled seaweed in a mariner's grasp. Rukia gasped, cried out in pain. He shook her head vapidly, forcing Rukia to remember the injury sustained from the "fucking doctors" as Ichigo called them. Once more the beast who caused her strife was male.

Fresh pain kicked her bones and muscles as she was thrown to the tiled floor. Rukia grunted loudly, the same experience repeating itself almost exactly as the day before. A single name dropped from her lips, and he laughed at her.

_Ah-ah. Only you can hear me. _

He said it in a low rumble, the voice unlike her inner critic. Her mind's eye could not come up with a picture of the face whose voice bore down on her. Nothing but red haze seeped into her vision.

Pushed on her knees by the forceful energy, every shadow drew upon her—the appropriate dosage of pain induced Rukia to see shadowy figures slither and slide to her body. Shallow creatures sallow from their own blasphemous abilities of corruption and abuse on his chosen victim. Rukia found herself bound by this presence, attempted struggle by her internal defense mechanism to get away.

_You can't fight me, Rukia_.

As she struggled, eyes shut, they popped back open angrily. The savage violet shade had enveloped her irises, her sanity losing control. "Do I have the honor of being harassed by you every day now that I've defected?" she said in a nasty ragged quip, yet grinned underneath the bitter pressure. "Let me tell you this, _dog_. _I'm_ in control now. _Come after me and I'll tear out your throat_. You'll never bark orders again. _Understand_?"

The presence didn't answer. It chortled instead.

_Oh_, _liar_, _liar_.

It's tongue rode her throat, tasting her pulse. She practically gagged. _You'll never be in control though you may wish it_.

She felt a subtle pressure over her stomach—_her womb_—making the madness in her ephemeral eyes opaque. _This isn't a playground where you can run around freely, Rukia. _The voice whispered, burning her cartilage._ You'll die before you escape from us. _The dark matter pat her head, kissed her temple. _And you will listen to me._ Her body grew numb from cold. The only draft in the room was her black nuisance however, breathing in her life as she drew out his drear madness of near nonexistence.

Her decision that this being was male frightened her in a way which the unknown shredded existence apart in ragged ribbons. Though it may have been her own madness driving her to halt her exodus to a clinic, the "arm" hooked around her kept Rukia from moving. He was the devil in her daydreams from the day before, the one whispering to her when she wouldn't expect it. It was a pushy case of Stockholm syndrome where she had no idea whether this invisible voice had ever been an abuser or savior during her time within the Company's walls. Yet forcing fear into Rukia made her more potent to anger.

When she didn't respond fast enough he got impatient. The dog tag cut into her throat as he tried to quiet her breathing. Rukia barely choked out a "_No_."

_Don't you realize who your biggest enemy is here? It's not me._ She made more raspy noise, defying the black ghost prominently though he strangled her. The ghost muttered, _I'm on your side. I'm looking out for your benefit. And your baby's._ He paused, let it soak in. Rukia growled. _But Ichigo? Who's to say he won't run when he hears what you've caused? _Not getting too carried away from his original purpose, he added, _There's already life growing inside you. You don't want to risk dying by going to one filthy clinic, do you?_

Implanted into her mind were visions of gore: chopped parts, blood covered walls and splattered red faces, drips of colored waste material sliding down arms and cheeks, dissected things which Rukia nearly screamed for help to escape from as this monster set a violent wake before her eyes.

And Rukia did manage to scream. She screamed louder from shock when flowing water hit her feet and palms. The tub had overflown and began creating a pool beneath her.

_As much as I love the sound of a woman's screams, he can't hear you. He'll _never_ hear you_. _No matter how loud you scream_.

Rukia's resolve was a damaged good at this point, striking up points back within the Company's center. Her vitals were going haywire while someone toasted with mimosa this early morning. Once readings of her brainwaves unexpectedly made their way back to HQ and weren't completely decommissioned by the test subjects' sudden abandonment, hijacking her fate and imminent plans by use of the voice of her previous caretaker was a child's cakewalk.

A persuasive poison was in her veins.

The touch on her shoulder was similar to yesterday before he left. _We'll know if you do something. You will die then_.

It exhaled and diminished until only her breathing held the room's attention.

Rukia had been freed, but she shuttered, collapsed into a ball on the pooling floor—and the bathroom was about to be drowned! But she didn't care . . . everything she was going to strive for . . . everything she thought might work out crumbled. Breathing was a struggle, water attempting to make its way back into her mouth as she tried to conform herself. She blinked, and her lashes were wet. Tears. Or water—water was making its way to the carpet! But she almost feared the shower—the bathtub close enough to a personalized watery coffin if she decided to fall asleep for only a moment. She forced herself up, reached out to the knob and turned off the water.

Somehow a bath just wasn't satisfying anymore. She still needed one, yet not with this incarcerated liquid.

With one pull the dog tag flew off her neck and broke away, chain tossed in the toilet. Rukia stared at her image in the bathwater.

If she were to attempt death they would kill her. If she survived, they'd bring her back and kill her anyway. But to what end?

What purpose did she serve as a test subject? And _why_ was she pregnant?

There truly was no answer for anything at this time. She and Ichigo were stuck in a paradox that made their identities a mystery to solve.

And of Ichigo at that same moment? Did he still exist?_ Had_ he abandoned her?

"Ichigo . . . ?" He couldn't have been sleeping this entire time. "Are you there?"

No response other than a single drop from the faucet.

Rukia let the water drain out, cleaned the floor with sopping mildew-crusted towels. She refreshed her tub with renewed water, stripped off her napkin and rag with one toss. She soaked her soiled skin, selfishly dumping all remaining showering products in the already bubbling suds. If this was what the joy of a pampered queen felt like, then Rukia was the opposite—the Snow Queen herself. Nothing more than to become a frozen icon of solitude.

She sat quietly, sank until her chin touched the surface.

The idea that Ichigo would take any part of her struggle from this point onward was a barren hope.

Rukia took a deep breath and let the kingdom of suds cover her, unsure if she would rise out of this temperate grave.

* * *

><p>"OK, if we're going to do this we need to figure out how skilled we are."<p>

"Ichigo, don't you think that's a bit obvious? _How many men_ did we end up taking out?"

"Doesn't matter. We escaped, but we don't know what the hell's going on. Or what really happened to begin with . . . Hit me!"

"I am not going to shoot you with a gun, fool. You know I won't miss."

Evening was approaching on their second day free from tyranny and the earth was growing cold. An abandoned field located some place secluded where they figured satellites from space couldn't observe them easily was found by chance, somewhere between the Four Corners and the Rocky mountains.

"A day for self-exploration" was what had slipped from Ichigo's mouth when she found him outside on the deck that morning, a surprisingly hot coffee in his hand, yet also in a chipped mug. He made a second for Rukia as the sun rose over the sands and dawn drew up higher in the sky until she became day. Rukia managed to snort with glee before he realized how his word choice could be taken the wrong way. She playfully bantered with him as Ichigo tried to cover his flub coolly, burning red in his cheeks as he failed miserably. He was a schoolboy up against a teacher at that moment.

Though his words better described the task of two uneasy virgins trying to have a go at each other, Ichigo had brooded over it for a while that morning. He wanted to find out what they were made of soon, before something shady happened. Were they cyborgs with mechanical organs? Were they reprogrammed and "upgraded" like human computers? That idea fizzled when Rukia scoffed, but she also didn't push the suggestion away. "_Self-exploration_." She sipped the stale coffee to keep herself distracted.

Ichigo pushed bullets in the barrel of a handgun while Rukia wiped hers with a rag.

It took all of Rukia's strength to not let herself sleep underwater like a mermaid, painted a fake smile on her lips to hide her retrograde when Ichigo first saw her this morning. He looked more youthful, his light mustache gone by magic, his dark lashes shyly covering the eyes which she could tell remained exhausted. He needed a good night's rest tonight or he might never get one again.

Her bright blue sports top and black cropped yoga pants revealed a reformed physique as did Ichigo's form-hugging attire, one where she had to focus harder on cleaning the gun instead of his ass. Three hundred was spent in total for clothing expenses along with a new, _untrackable_ suitcase, one which could easily haul their questionable thousands. Ichigo insisted on keeping the leather jacket—that was good quality material! Rukia dumped her shitty dress outside the store and burned them with a Zippo lighter, nearly having the store clerk call the cops for fear of her shop burning down. Her shoes which proved surprisingly sturdy were the only things Rukia kept. Ichigo tried to find new jeans, but knew Rukia liked the ones he wore already, and he liked that she liked them on him, so he stopped caring and found a black sweatshirt instead. And it fit him perfectly.

Six targets lay ahead, each at a distance of 100 yards. The sun had just edged behind the tree tops.

She noticed the dog tag hanging around his neck, eyed it with ambiguity. She looked at him and he pointed in the distance.

"Point and aim at your target. See how good of a shot we are."

"You sure my bullets will hit?"

"Yes."

Rukia with a Colt and he with a shotgun, they poised their arms and perfected their stances, breathing in time to one another.

"Got it."

A cacophony of noise rang through their open garden. Under the wide-spread tree cover not a single leaf twitched as bullets barreled into boulders and fallen browned trunks.

When the bombs of dirt, rock, and bark settled their perfected eyesight saw that their targets were killed in clean shots. If they had been living targets, that is.

Test subject 14 was slightly alarmed yet stood in awe. Test subject 15 felt a rush of power, not unlike the waves rushing to his feet in his dream, but more like the ebony sword—_alive_, waiting for the fight to begin.

_An essence that could defeat his god-maker leagues away with one slash, and make all cower in fear if they knew what'd been created. _

Ichigo smirked, looked down at his partner and gestured. "I think we're going to be okay."

Daylight was depleting beneath a tired sun, yet their techniques and skills did not.

Rukia's hand-to-hand was exceptional. They worked little against one another, but Ichigo sensed a primordial element somewhere deep in her core—awareness, a superb energy constantly thriving. Given the chance, he knew Rukia could seriously do some damage, just as she _had_ done the previous morning to the suits like a badass. The same went for him as well, but Rukia already realized that.

Ichigo sketched the figure of a hit-man target quickly, filling it in with nearly accurate detail before tying it to a tree.

At a distance of twenty yards he stood, paused, breathed.

Ichigo shut his eyes, opened them, threw a knife at the target. Repeated this ritual twice more from varying distances and speeds.

He hit his target at the center each time.

Rukia observed impressed, worry a small twinge on her lip. Ichigo repeated again and again, running, jumping, as if trying to fail at his task, but didn't.

_Perfection_ was a proper word for his suddenly honed skills.

And that was what also bothered Rukia as she watched him retrieve his knife again. And again. _And again_; _always on target_. The "perfect" soldiers they'd become could be bogged down by the Company's fury at any second though she and Ichigo tried to ignore this haunting fact. One knife and a hell of a lot of guns might not save them this time around, especially if they weren't in immediate reach. Ichigo might peg one man—then what? A shootout?

Not in her condition especially. And not for the condition she decided upon this morning, after rising from her watered tomb.

The plan she had come up with was not a kind one, nor did she approve of her actions to come. It was painful, really. Rukia would destroy—

With a blare of silver-sharp lightening her reflexes moved before she truly knew what was occurring. An icy feeling created shivers which split her nerves, sent shockwaves throughout her body. She nearly fell off her log from the impact.

Ichigo had thrown the knife in her direction, aiming at her heart. She had somehow miraculously clapped it between her palms, tip of the blade riling a fragmented hole in her brand new top. A bead of sweat fell from her temple.

"Holy shit!"

"_ARE YOU CRAZY, ICHIGO_?!" she shouted angrily. "_YOU COULD HAVE _KILLED_ ME, BASTARD_!"

"Rukia, I . . . ! I'm sorry! I didn't do it on purpose!"

"_Liar_! I know you want to find out what's up with us, but how _dare you_ try to catch me off guard to find your answers!" She was overcome by Hellfire, possibly because she was simply rip-shit, possibly because she was protecting more than just her own life.

"Rukia, _I swear_, I don't know what—_hey_!" Ichigo sidestepped out of the way of the flying knife as she sent it straight back at him. The blade had grazed his skin, just missing the hair on his arm. "What the _hell_?!"

She huffed. "I'm surprised you didn't get hit."

"That's because I actually _saw_ you throw the knife!" he replied hotly.

"You know what? I'm done! Get me out of here, I've had enough "Survival of the Fittest" for one day."

"Rukia—!"

"_No_! Screw you, Ichigo!"

Rukia stormed off, picking up her belongings and left Ichigo to clear the rest. The Lamborghini's door slammed shut; it didn't deserve such violence. Neither did he.

A rush of wind sped by, tossing his hair this way and that. He was dumbfounded, confused . . . overcome by . . . _something_.

Ichigo walked over to where the hunting knife hit the earth and pulled.

He didn't understand what just happened at all.

One second he was practicing at the tree.

A vision, a white blank almost.

Then Rukia with her hands in prayer to protect herself.

It didn't make sense.

Adding this on top of his nightmare about his mother wasn't making things easier on himself.

And this lovely car ride to their next unknown destination as he begged for her forgiveness would be a _doozy_ too.

The power and fury of a woman scorned was a very, _very_ vicious beast. One which would not succumb to apologies, satires, or offerings. _Never_ offerings. Ichigo made the amateur mistake of asking if he could do or get anything for Rukia when they arrived "home." Her response?

"The only thing I _need_ right now is a cup of boiling tea. _One I can throw at you if I don't like how it tastes."_

* * *

><p><strong>Review plz and tell your friends!<strong>


	9. Tinker Toys

He wasn't one to drink tea usually, but it was supposed to be calming . . . _He was told_. The only reason he wasn't chugging hard ale was because it wasn't company policy . . . though it _was_ happy hour _somewhere_. He restricted himself to tea while sitting at his desk. And he needed it right now. His boss held on to old traditions hard, and maybe trying to be like the fearless, coldhearted man he wished to represent himself as a somewhat stoic copy, meant trying to have peace of mind. Tea to relax. But he _doubt_ his boss would able to tolerate the spazzing flutter of arms as the reason for Renji's choice of drink.

Renji attempted to sip while his young lackey danced around the room hurriedly, trying to suck up _all_ remaining time he had left from his six-hour-straight shift. _Fucking interns_ . . . He wouldn't stand still, not for a second upon entering Renji's reasonably- sized office. With a mop of fluffed black hair decorated with braids and charm beads mixed with his clean-dressed attire, the teenager screeched rebellion. Ricki was a kid and looked up to Renji like an older brother; one he never had before a scout picked him up and thought he would be a decent intern. Sporadic, timely, and with quick-wit the kid wasn't actually a waste of time or money . . . except perhaps Renji's patience on occasion. _Like now_.

Watching him go back and forth was like watching a puppy in a playpen sans toys or treats. He was miserable and—

"I'M BORRRRREEEEDDDD!" he exclaimed, yelping once he circled round his playpen for the last time.

Renji could feel a vein throb. "Then go bother _someone else_, Ricki!" he grumbled through gritted teeth.

His eyes became sad. "But I only have a short time left before I go and I want to be useful instead of minding my own businesssssss!" He stormed Renji's castle—he came dangerously close and invaded his space. He nearly spilt Renji's tea from the onslaught of angst when he slammed against the desk like the vessels which brought American troops to Normandy's shore. "YOU'VE GOT TO GIVE ME SOMETHING TO DO!"

"_Augh_! _Piss off, Ricki_!" He pushed him back in a chair next to his desk. He pointed at him like a parent scolding his child, or the large-eyed puppy which he thought Ricki as, Ricki giving him such a look Renji nearly had to look away. "Just be patient and wait here like a good boy. I'm currently dealing with other matters at hand." He drove the sentence through his teeth.

The boy wagged his tail. "Of course, sir! I'll do it for you!"

His joy was sickeningly annoying, and there was still more to him. Shock therapy probably couldn't get out his remaining energy.

Renji tapped the side of his temple while he thought. The paperwork on his desk was supposed to be finished hours ago, yet his mind was elsewhere.

_One week_. It had been a solid week since Ichigo Kurosaki and Rukia Kuchiki had defected and been on the run. No recorded sightings. No evidence of telephone conversations. No paper trails. _And_ his boss hadn't said a peep to either himself, Gin or Uryû since then that he knew of. His name _was_ the "danger zone!" Renji growled internally, leaned his cheek on his fist. His pen flipped between fingers and he signed his signature on something he hadn't read.

Ricki was fidgeting again, and Renji's narrow eyes stared until he stopped moving; sat on his hands to be still.

The only thing on his desk he _was_ actually reading was the file on test subject 14, a copy which Ricki had managed to smuggle while Uryû wasn't looking. He had fast hands, which was probably why he couldn't sit still now. This kid was useful to some advantage thankfully.

Her image stared blankly back at him, her life on display by written notes, candid photographs, health visits, education—you name it, it was there. He looked at the image expecting a reply, an answer, but got none. Renji didn't know _what_ he was looking for anymore. The vacant stare she bore into him nearly made Renji shudder, reminding him of his crimes done with her. He flipped the file closed and moved on to test subject 15's hardy folder instead, which Ricki also pilfered. Knowing nothing much about the boy, his was also a unique case, one which Renji had to better familiarize himself with because he had been named Rukia's caretaker upon arrival.

Renji scoffed, gathering an innocent look from the teen. _Caretaker my ass. _Their first encounter when she awoke was definitely a first in his rouse as a named "caretaker." The idea was a joke, but the joke was on him. Deep in thought, thinking back to his last encounter with Uryû about her, his name brought him back into the office.

"Renji," Ricki's voice spoke up, "do you actually think you'll find them?"

His face a blank, Renji wanted to bite his tongue, however he knew that wasn't fair. "I don't know," he replied, gave a huff of exasperation. The pen was thrown on Kurosaki's black and white mug shot. "At this rate, all I can say is I'm more scared of what my boss might do when he asks for an official report from the three of us. He isn't the most forgiving."

"Yeahhh, the boss seems pretty uptight. First time I met him he gave me a judgmental once-over and made a comment that unless I grew up fast and took the hippie beads outta my hair I was going nowhere with my life, heh. . . . I mean, from where I came from I think I'm doing somewhat better . . . I think." He gave an uneasy nervous laugh.

Renji frowned out of pity. "He's unfortunately like that. I personally still think he hates me too, yet he knows I'm loyal and work hard. Well, _usually_," he said with a wink which made the kid smile.

Ricki, almost seventeen, started as a kind of hustler on the streets near his home to survive. He had been scarred in a dilapidated cul-de-sac by thugs when he was fifteen, an anomaly in a routine drug deal. A scar above his left eyebrow was a reminder to him every day that unless he got away and changed his career path he would lose his eye next time around.

"Hmmm. With all the _nostalgia_ about these two going around, you'd think there'd be a real search warrant out for their arrest or somethin'."

"Well, we're not cops here, kid. I mean, yeah, we have all the information about them. But there's stuff we do here that the _government_ apparently doesn't even know about."

"Really?! Like what?!"

"Mm-mm. Not for you to know about."

"Awww, come on! you know I'll keep quiet!"

"No. I know you won't."

"Damn it . . ."

* * *

><p><em>I think I have some information you might find interesting . . .<em>

Those were the very flawed, coy words he had used to attract his attention. And they had unfortunately worked.

Gin and Uryû were talking quietly during their lunch break, a conversation of equals from a common worker's standpoint. They were in the company's cafeteria, slightly nicer than a high school's without the food fights and gum wads just waiting for knees to hit them under the table. It was here that Ichimaru had scoped out Uryû drinking a latte and neatly eating a homemade meal. Other than the merry attitude, it was his words that turned Uryû's boring lunch hour into a more interesting one; Ichimaru even brought an extra cappuccino for him to ease into this deal better.

An open view into the California woodlands gave a gorgeous vista courtesy of the large windows their boss loved, light bursting into the room evenly at all angles.

Making this staged set-up and their stage pictures prominent against the green backdrop.

A full week had gone by since their upward-spiraling world fractured.

Time progressed, ticking daily at its usual scintillating pace, but like within the first forty-eight hours of a person's disappearance and his trail going cold after the clock reached its zenith, the same had happened.

The test subjects _weren't_ recovered. They might have taken a rocket to Mars because their trace was gone. _Vanished_—Worse than a trick by Houdini.

No tracker on the Lamborghini—no tracker implanted into their skin—no trail of spying on them via satellite—at least at this time.

They may as well have blasted into a different dimension because _Uryû_ was having difficulty locating them. And that _never_ happened. He wasn't a genius and a hacker working for a multi-million dollar corporation for lack of results. The invisible pressure had gotten to him, gripping him like a python, and with Gin also strangling him with this coup of "secretive information" Uryû might have passed out from lack of oxygen. The silence from their boss was especially disturbing—a _week_ of silence. Abarai heard nothing. He saw and found nothing. Perhaps this is where Ichimaru's secretive tactics came into play.

He crossed his arms and legs, raised an eyebrow to the proposition. "What kind of information do you have?"

A sly look came from his contender. "_Ah_. Little things. Here and there."

"These little things have anything to do with our goal of retrieving the missing test subjects?" he asked curtly.

Ichimaru smiled, beautifully polished jade eyes watching him. "Surely an erudite man like yourself must have found _something_ important. I wouldn't doubt it. You're _much_ too intelligent to let such a thing as this slip through your fingers so easily."

Gin was playing around with him like a child with tinker toys. It was an unpleasant experience, like he was some sort of doll being tossed into an infant's nursery filled with number blocks. Yet Uryû was no slouch when it came to opportunity. He would get the facts even if it meant dealing with this bullshit all day.

"It is funny, no?" Ichimaru started easily. "It's like their exodus has completely gone off the map. Perhaps they sunk into the sea?" He smirked, but he knew he was only making Ishida more irritated.

"I doubt Atlantis has given them sanctuary."

"No, no, but what if the "sanctuary" they've found was unreliable?"

Uryû narrowed his eyes, and Gin knew he was interested. "How so?"

Ichimaru had a unique quality to his voice to begin with, yet the change in tone felt off, even if he was a walking white shadow. "There's a way to get into their heads. You and I know that. What if we implanted an idea into their minds which told us when and where they would be exactly? It wouldn't be hard, and they would have been recaptured yesterday." He smiled, cheek in his palm as he looked at Uryû amused.

"Inception at its finest. You've thought hard about this."

"My hair isn't gray because of worry or anguish. Rueful genetics mostly," he joked, which actually made Uryû a bit more relaxed. Ironic because he began to feel jitters from the caffeine kicking in.

Uryû cleared his throat. "However we aren't slacking off in my department. We _are_ using a kind of psychic awareness to keep tabs on both of them. Making sure the girl doesn't do anything stupid with the child she's carrying."

"Hmm. Interesting." It was an aloof comment. "There are no great worries in my opinion, nor my mind thankfully."

_Then what are we actually discussing about?_ Uryû thought to himself as he studied the black sheep—no—_black mamba_ before him.

And on that thought, Ichimaru's eyes curved, smiled with a sharp twinkle in his usually hidden jade eyes. "Word has it from the underground that a revolution is starting, or just beginning to that is."

Another eyebrow was raised. "What does this have to do with my test subjects?"

"Exactly."

Pause for affect.

Uryû did something unlike himself, scrunched up his face and openly showed annoyance. Even his response sounded like an unimpressed teenager. "_Huh_?!"

"Just what I said."

"PLEASE tell me this isn't the secret information you had for me."

"Yes. And no." A smile. "The idea is this: we don't necessarily know where they've gone, but if they've figured out that their _I.D. tags_ are a little high, they might be concerned. Perhaps realize they're not alone? Possibly since they escaped, why can't the others?"

"Gin, this is leading nowhere. You find me on my break and tell me it's important, yet I'm not hearing any dialogue." Uryû stood as if making to leave. "The other thirteen have been tamed. They're like _livestock_. They wouldn't know how to escape now if the door was wide open and we told them "_Get_!""

"Test subjects are tricky. Some are good. _Some ain't_. Some want to cut our throats while the others don't want to be bothered. Why is that do you think?" His smirk deepened. "Do you recommend a suggestion? Or do you simply think that they're plotting our demise as we speak?"

Uryû was rendered speechless, extremely miffed that Ichimaru was the one to leave him at a loss for conversation. It wasn't fear grounding him as Ichimaru slapped him with that last tidbit of info. But he wasn't sure what. His eyes worked past Gin's snarky face, eyes hidden once more, finding something and someone else to be displeased at.

Fingers twirled through her long dark locks. A dark skinned woman had sat near their table at some point during their interlude, but wasn't having an edible lunch to snack on. Her open compact had her focused on fixing stray flyaways from her glossy and generously oiled hair, but also aimed at their table, snacking on their tête-à-tête.

Uryû knew what she was really doing, and furrowed his brows. "Eavesdropping? If you want to find out real information, _Yoruichi_, you'd better go elsewhere and look for it."

She stopped petting her hair and turned slightly. A cheerful look in her gilded eyes was met with a pleasantly curved smile, giving _Gin_ a creep up his spine. "Don't worry. I'll get your test subjects back."

Gin smirked from her knowing response, Uryû gritting his teeth in anger. "You know we're not supposed to mention this out loud!"

"Isn't that what you two are doing though?"

Gin laughed gaily, Uryû ignoring him. "This is different."

"Really? I think not." She went back to priming herself as Gin leaned forward on the table.

"Think about it though—how many black women do you know that speak fluent Japanese? _Hm_?" he raised his eyebrows at the idea. "Marvelous, actually."

Gin liked Yoruichi. She was confident, strong, ballsy, had a wise-ass mouth and killer body, and when it came down to it people actually listened to her. He sometimes wondered why she never became a head executive herself.

"_Gin_!"

He was hailed from afar by a lovely woman who waved him over. "I need to be going. We'll keep in touch over these matters soon," he assured with a pat on Uryû's shoulder, a nice smile that didn't make him look like a silent killer.

He got up and crossed the room, leaving Uryû to eventually sit; staring at Yoruichi's poised back. "What do you think you're doing?"

"What do you mean." she replied with a knowing smile he couldn't see.

"Don't kid around with me. We can't loudly discuss for the whole company to hear that we lost two flawless test subjects. Especially since we haven't been able to locate them."

"You sure about that?" She snapped her compact shut.

He paused, biting his tongue. It was a lie from the beginning that he tried to make himself believe, so it wouldn't be weaseled out of him easily. Perhaps Uryû _somewhat_ knew the general area where the test subjects were, but _where_ specifically was still biting him in the ass. Internally the pressure cooker was rumbling. He didn't want to tell Gin offhand, or let her know that he was playing the players. Like he said, if she wanted information, she'd have to sniff it out herself.

But Yoruichi laughed coolly, half-turning. "I'm just taking care of those in my department, that's all."

"You mean _my_ department. You're just an asset of it."

"_Careful_, _Uryû_." She stood up, walked to where he was sitting. Yoruichi put her hand on his shoulder and gripped viciously, digging her long nails in deep. Uryû kept a straight face through the biting pain he refused to acknowledge on his face. She bent and whispered into his ear, "_You know I have claws_."

With a hard pat she released him and walked away, the tips of her rich hair swishing into his face. He turned and watched her go, fixing his glasses to the proper position.

Uryû wasn't scared of Yoruichi, but he was wary of her. _Like now_.

She was up to something. Then again, so wasn't he. So wasn't everybody who worked for their boss.

With Gin away and flirting with some of the few single ladies left and Abarai mentoring his kid-intern somewhere else, Uryû sat alone, almost feeling the bitter gnaw of loneliness. His cappuccino was probably cold, and his boss was going to wring his neck unless he had a more concise location on Kurosaki and Kuchiki. That golden period of silence wouldn't last forever.

He pulled out a tablet from his breast pocket and switched it on. Monitoring surveillance footage and traffic cameras he had simply hacked into from across the Midwest, they were within 125 miles of the Four Corners.

He used his stylus to knock something from the screen. As for punishment, the "games" Gin had mentioned earlier would begin shortly if they continued to run.

* * *

><p>Rikichi wasn't normally the type to take cash offers since his younger days. Yet the crisp twenty dollar bill Renji slipped into his black work jacket made getting back into the game easier. And fun to say the least. He loved rummaging through peoples personal belongings more than old ladies scavenging for jewels at a garage sale. Killing time until his shift ended also made this a better way to end his day . . . probably Renji's as well. He didn't exactly know why Renji was so affluent about him gathering more of this kind of info, but if it meant extra cash for him to screw around with Ricki wasn't complaining.<p>

Within Mr. Ishida's cyborg sarcophagus he downloaded extracted sub-information on the escaped test subjects, delving deeper into the psychosis with these "purebreds," one notation offered. Ricki's eyes ticked back and forth between the thirty-seven HD security cameras outside in the halls and the files slowly printing. He didn't have A.D.D., but Ricki couldn't keep still while his many needed pages and papers crapped out on Mr. Ishida's swanky high-def color printer. "_Daugh_!" There was hardly anyone in the hallways—it was lunch time. Ricki managed to find the lone working camera fixated in the cafeteria, and fortunately it was pointing in a direction where Mr. Ishida and Mr. Ichimaru were having lunch together. For some reason. "_Weeeird_."

Going through hundreds of manila folders and scrounging up anything else in the database he thought valid to the case of "_hottie-14_," Ricki was almost done when the large screen above began pinging, swinging his attention back. His remaining twenty files were also being jammed. "_Crap_! No-no-no-no-no-no-no-no!"

On the screen in a grey box appeared:

Corrupted file.3

His attention swung back at the cafeteria camera, Mr. Ishida alone on the screen. Ricki gave an overexerted sigh of relief. Lunch ended technically in seventeen minutes to the dot, so he was safe for a little longer. "_If you would just print, damn it_!"

A fist to the printer taught it who was boss. It began chugging out his remaining top-secret paperwork, and he smiled to himself for a job well done.

Yet he still needed to make a decision about Corrupted file.3. He scratched his head, beads jingling. Ricki, unlike Mr. Ishida, may not have been a genius when it came to computers, or life, but he _was_ a hacker, hence the reason Renji trusted him to do the job.

Accept or Decline was offered as a choice, yet Ricki chose a select pattern on the keypad to jostle the mystery program a bit. With a fickle waver, Corrupted file.3 opened, downloading straight onto his flashdrive. The kid smirked, this game a breeze. With nine minutes left, he shrugged, deciding to open Mystery File.3, not worrying it would destroy his drive or Mr. Ishida's life's work. He added a "_safe_" encryption feature before it completely downloaded.

Ricki didn't know exactly where Mystery File.3 had popped up from, but his flashdrive had tendencies to also hack its way into a computer's "back door" on its own—another little trick Ricki was proud of. He wondered if Mr. Ishida's mammoth computer was as smart as his butterfly.

The few PDF files shown involved technical elements, architectural basics and structures, Roman theories, _etcetera, etcetera_ . . . _Boringgg_ . . . .

But Ricki's eyes widened the more he read. "_Huh_?"

His cell phone erupted full-blast into heavy metal forcing the intern into a sheer imbalance of panic. "_Aaahh_! _Crap-crap-crap-crap-crap_!"

Within two minutes Mr. Ishida and perhaps the rest of the company would be returning to their respectful cubicles, he probably coming straight this way. Ricki jerked his files out of the printer, not before risking to print three pages of his discovery, removed his flashdrive, shut cabinets and file drawers, took a sip from a leftover soda can, gagged, took another sip, erased anything that could be immediately discovered on his King-sized monitor, grabbed his remaining papers and bolted—_casually_.

Ricki slipped out the door and edged his way down the hall. He was in the clear until a tall blonde whom Ricki also thought was hot rounded the corner and headed toward him, Mr. Ichimaru following close at hand.

And Ricki did the best cover he could think of: he _whistled_. Classically saying he was up to something.

He avoided eye contact at all costs, but he still got a friendly, "Hello, Ricki!" from the woman.

"_Uhhhhhh_, _Morning_!"

She laughed, Mr. Ichimaru giving him the usual smirk before shaking his head and heading into his office with the woman—one who's name he still didn't know. _I gotta learn her name, damn it!_

Once he was free from their gaze, Ricki, _still casually_, made his way back to Renji's office. The expression on his face showed everything. Uncomfortable with what he found Ricki barely _knew_ what he had stumbled upon. Adults played rough, and he was on the verge of becoming one within a few weeks. He was also on the fence about telling Renji.

He scurried down a hallway, seconds from the office. But he dragged out his steps.

A gut feeling told him that the men here loved to crush antagonizers—one possibly being him if he rocked the boat.

He crunched the fat file between his hands, hoping Mr. Ichimaru and his bangin' secretary hadn't noticed it. Then again they probably _did_. Casual wasn't the best approach when it came to a complete _spazz_. He didn't understand completely what the notes meant, but he hoped his superior would.

With the lights off and the blinds down, it was silent aside from even breathing. The back of the black leather office chair faced Ricki, and he entered the office without gusto, panic returning, feeling like he was in a horror movie about to be whacked. The door shutting made him jump, making his papers splatter the carpet. He cursed and pulled what he could back together, odds and ends pointing in random directions.

He found Renji in his chair, passed out. He raised an eyebrow at the empty rocks glass and smutty ashtray on his desk, but thought nothing else over it. Ricki picked out the three pages he found by chance and laid the fat file down. "Renji! _Pssssst_! _Hey_!" The man remained asleep.

Slightly annoyed he half-smacked the papers into the redhead's face.

"_Gah_! What?! _Ricki_! What are you still doing here?!"

"Working for _you_!"

"_Augh_." He had only meant for it to be a brief pause in his workload, take a short snooze. Renji hadn't slept well the previous night, being haunted by eyes in his dreams. And they had returned to bother Renji in this dream as well. "What time is it?"

"After lunch!" Renji grumbled like his favorite television show got cancelled. "Renji?" More grumbling. "_Renji_!"

The adult narrowed his eyes, pissed to have been woken in such an awkward fashion. The kid had a worried look on his face, carried some crumpled papers in his fist. "Oh, jeez, what did you do this time, Ricki?"

He handed the documents over almost apologetically.

"I think I found something out that I shouldn't have . . ."

* * *

><p>"<em>We're missing money<em>."

The week-long forbearing of silence from their boss ended with that announcement.

The statement was a shock and terrifying, like watching lightening strike a player on a field in the middle of his match. And watching that same man die immediately from the volts which imploded his being.

Gin wasn't smiling. Abarai wasn't in the room, supposedly working a special assignment. Uryû was stiff, bombarded with this declaration immediately after lunch. Their boss wasn't happy either.

News of the scandal had spread like a disease. Renji had phoned their boss within the first minute of reading Ricki's findings and from there he immediately was asked to remain on "stand by"—whatever the hell that meant. Rikichi would be spending the remainder of the evening within the building until Renji or a higher superior gave him the go-ahead to scram. The boy's foster mother Ana Howell would also be knocking on some walls as to why her "son" arrived home so late that day. The remaining head-execs were called in shortly after, possibly making waves and rumors throughout the work area, possibly because Gin's pretty secretary had listened-in via his speaker phone.

It wasn't only a depravation of test subjects the company suffered from: tampered financial accounts had now come out as an avid player. Corrupted file.3's title was an understatement.

A meeting had to be set up without delay, making Mr. Rotwood expressly displeased when he heard what Renji told him. The two men alone against this power-house of wrath might not survive if they remained long within his chamber.

" . . . H-how much money, Sir?" Uryû never hesitated, never stammered. And if he did it may have been a just cause, like brain freeze after eating something cold, vice versa if it were something hot. Never out of fear.

The hard line of his mouth gave Uryû a good answer. "_Gin_, how are our stocks holding up?"

"They haven't budged much, Sir, or not nearly enough for what we're currently experiencing at this time."

"Hm. Fast answers from you as always," he sarcastically quipped.

"Likewise, Sir," he retorted evenly with a lucid smile.

Uryû folded his hands over his knee, trying to keep them steady as he somehow sat. The jitters were still there. _Something isn't right_.

Gin went on, "The money reserves we have shouldn't have been tampered with, but I'll check. Now as for our _money machines_, how much money do you think was created then stolen?"

"What?" Uryû was losing it.

"_Focus_, Uryû, I don't need you daydreaming." His boss continued, "From what our intern has sniffed out, money may have been created as a double to hide the real lottery stolen from our reserve. Of course, you know we have this machine which makes actual millions thanks to our resource from D.C., yet it doesn't explain _why_ it was created or stolen for that matter."

"You should give that kid a bonus for finding this out," Gin suggested, like it was his own purse which needed filling.

"Yes, except he was poking around in an _unauthorized area_. I would think the bonus at this point would be for him to keep his job." He went on, "Some visuals declare dates when the vault was opened last, same as for when the machine created several hundreds of thousands. The problem? Nothing has been reported as out of the ordinary or at a time considered to be peculiar. Our little cat burglar walks under our roof, gentlemen. And he is very clever."

Gin stifled a laugh. It sounded more like a disrupted sneeze to Uryû. At a time like this, he knew Gin knew more than what he was telling.

"How do we know if it's not one of our lovely test subjects?" offered Gin, still bemused at the little secret only he knew. "There _were_ fifteen of them at the time."

The room was silent. Uryû slowly looked at the man next to him, loss for words completely. Second time this week. The Boss narrowed his eyes at Ichimaru like he was aiming for open fire. "What are you saying, Gin?" His words were tight-lipped, angry, a fire roaring in his stomach and the smoke just starting to roll out his teeth.

Gin only smiled pleasantly, crossed his legs, hands folded in his lap neatly. "I know where your money is. _Sir_." He added the last bit on like it was a statement for war. A coming war which neither of them saw.

* * *

><p><strong>Comment, rate, review!<strong>

**Aaaand I finished my internship! Yay! Learned a lot too. Hardly time for writing as I figured, but now since I'm done with school I actually have time to write. A shorter chapter, but fun to complete. And as for the overall new title for my story, I decided on "The Edge of Tomorrow." It seems to be a better fit, and makes sense being that I/R are living on the "edge" for "tomorrow" to arrive. Hope this works for everyone! **

**And for those that don't remember, Rikichi is one of the many short-lived characters who made his appearance back in volumes 7 and 17, always with Renji. Maybe he was only for comic relief, but I think he could've been a fun character if Kubo didn't drop-off "unnecessary" characters so often. Meh . . .**


	10. (8 ounces)

Ichigo flipped open the suitcase and slipped out another C-note, stuffing it into his back pocket. The binoculars he purchased would be well put to use, wanting to catch the enemy before he knew he was on to _them_. But to be on his best game he needed to be on full alert 24/7, which wasn't an easy task as he originally thought or anticipated.

He'd been working his target practice for days in the heart of the desert sands, but yawning made Ichigo distracted, made him remember that he was _exhausted_ though he was a _test subject_. With anxiety-filled eyes tinkering on the verge of a forbidding madness, he might as well be chained back on that metallic table. At least he could _sleep_.

He shook off the bad vibe and refocused, narrowing his perfect eyes at the target.

_One week_.

A whole week they had been running, but there was no satisfaction, no blood to salivate or savor as he chewed on bones. They couldn't celebrate with a top-quality champagne either.

What Ichigo exactly sought after in the Wild West he wasn't sure, but as the window of opportunity wedged shut a powerful fury forced it back open.

An _anger_ was driving Ichigo forward, a maelstrom which had mingled into his wounds when they were still fresh.

From their week living on the edge they were enlightened to various things.

All wounds sustained during the incident left no mark or visible memory of where test subjects 14 and 15 had been ill-treated. Their bruises and cuts were healed. The welt left on Ichigo's face from one of the men in black vanished; the abusive marks on Rukia's face and body gone. Day three sufficed these facts. It was stunning, just short of a preacher's miracle-work.

The second thing they discovered was that it was May. The middle of the month to be more precise. When asking what time it was, the man Ichigo spoke to clicked his iPhone and revealed the answer, more importantly, the date below the time. Things pieced themselves more properly after that.

They were kidnapped in March.

They'd been in the Company's hands at least seven weeks.

And Ichigo wanted nothing more than _revenge_. It was a centerpiece smoldering inside him.

It was also another reason to hone his skills by training daily.

The velvet grip around the revolver of the Smith & Wesson melted against his palm, he becoming the weapon to its fullest extent. He breathed deeply, a thrum unlocking a buried power within his reformed soul. His arm straightened without waver. Cocking the trigger, his eyes sparked open, bullet vanishing into the open sky. A sound like maddened thunder.

Ichigo blew smoke away from the tip as sunlight glared back into his darkened eyes. The man behind them was heated from the unknown spark of energy, echoing its existence like a beacon. Critters had already steered clear of the area, birds only making an occasional, if rare, twitter.

With one final pull of the trigger a bullet sailed into the halo of sunlight, scorching the air with sound and a sweet smell of sulfur that slowly sickened Rukia's stomach. Ichigo did not fear that his target wouldn't hit it's mark, yet secretly damned it for failing to pinpoint the sun's source of energy—it's _life_.

She watched from afar, wondering where his intentions lied when the last slug popped from its shaft. Frighten all who stood in his way? Enemies were one thing, tree and earth-dwellers different. She also wondered if the child inside her was the real cause of her nausea, or if it was her lover's power bending back and taking a blow at her. She couldn't figure Ichigo's strategy, his intent a cluster of colors on her white chessboard.

And they were far from checkmate.

He stormed off as the sun bowed to the king, accepting a stalemate as it set before them. "Let's go," he muttered, the heat of the gun resonating from his hand. She looked on, starlight dying as an unused emptiness balled up sadness inside her.

What _entity_ drove Ichigo's actions currently?

The Lamborghini revved, the horn calling for her attention.

She shut her eyes.

Ichigo had been changing over the last week, and very rapidly at that.

_Day 3. Phoenix, Arizona._

Heat had never been a problem for either fugitive in the past, except the desert sands of Phoenix and the dry air made them think twice before stepping outside and having their shoes melt to the pavement. It was a _new_ new version of Hell, a more realistic one, and with thermometers pushing 106 degrees in direct sunlight they knew better than to explore the vast city. It was a flat, pretty city, much different than those in Japan, yet also lacked a quality of something only found in the Far East. Maybe it was just the friggin' heat, but as long as they stayed inside where risk of sunburn lowered greatly, they could appreciate the Sun's city. Ichigo worried the Lamborghini might overheat in the outdoor oven, but it remained out of sight in a garage, several blocks from their hideout-location.

And just as the day destroyed many air conditioners and fans, the temperature plummeted that night, dropping to a bitter 46 degrees. Rukia used her blanket as a shawl while Ichigo bathed.

The shower was a steamed oasis when he came out that evening, clouds entering their actually decent hotel room with relaxed ease. Rukia didn't pay much mind at first, indubitably pissed about the knife-incident from last night. She had found his _Playboy_ and peeked at less scantily-clad women than she first thought. Finding surprisingly acceptable articles on sports and professional actors, a heavy-hitting male advice column left her most impressed. Not only how these generally womanizing articles were written, the _shapes_ of words piqued her interest, the _character_ of the sentences' flow. It was something odd. Then Rukia's eyes opened wide; she realized what it was—

Water droplets hit her face, flicking her discovery away. She looked up.

Ichigo came out of the bathroom with nothing but slim-fitted black sweatpants, towel drying his vivid hair rapidly. Usually the idea of his pants hanging low would seduce her immediately, except just as she _really_ began to look at the letters in _Playboy_'s advice column, she really observed him for the first time since they escaped.

Rukia originally noticed when they were standing on the hill, but Ichigo was more fit and in shape than she realized. _Much_ more. The body he donned was . . . _incredible_ to say the least.

He had always had a good body, but now it had transformed to a higher level, one where a physique _that_ good meant spending quite some time working out or performing an active ritual of martial arts or dance to be in the shape he was in. One look and she was sinning. It'd be worse if she didn't know him. Defined muscles outlined his silhouette beautifully. _And_ impressively. A ripped model wasn't his exact body-type, an athlete would make him more . . . she didn't know. A _soldier_ fit his persona currently, the damned dog tag around his neck and all. Not to be cliché, but his form was . . . _godlike_. A body sculpted by Michelangelo.

He was toned, lean, and cut enough that she would wear him on her body instead of a diamond on her finger.

She exclaimed dumbstruck, "Where did you get those _abs_?! And those _muscles_! _Wha_—?!"

"_Hm_? Oh." He gave a small laugh and smiled. "I meant to show you the other night but you were passed out. Pretty good, huh?"

Without stopping herself she said, "_Yeah_, I'll say!" _So, _you're_ ripped and _I'm_ pregnant? That's not a fair trade! _

He laughed again, but less innocently this time. He climbed on top of Rukia before she had time to protest and kissed her. "Don't know what they did, _but I like the results_."

He kissed her fiercely with more passion than she anticipated. It grew too intimate too abruptly. His hands washed over her face, her skin, her legs, her thighs, parting her clothes and legs to try and get nearer.

"_I_-_Ichi_-_Ichigo_, I . . . _wait_ _ah_, _oh_! You need to_ stop_ . . ."

But he pursued her further, getting Rukia flat beneath him. His kisses were hot and ready, waiting for her to comply. His eyes darkened with lust, but something was wrong—they were unlike his own. The ones she knew when he kissed her or made love to her were kinder and sweeter. These were harsher, sought only after her sex, wanted and would take everything but give nothing back. She was lucky to have room to breathe.

"_Ichigo, you're not yourself_."

"_How's that_?" The voice had gotten tighter, rasping ever so slightly.

"_Well_." She bit her lip from the unsure adrenaline in her veins. "You've never exactly . . . _jumped me_ before."

"That's because I never thought you'd wanna touch me the way I want you to now."

It was a sad thought really, and it came from a deep place she realized as she looked at him regretfully.

"_Ichigo_ . . ."

"I'm pleased. Why aren't you?" The rough tenure had returned, setting him back into a steely demeanor.

He kissed her gently, using his tongue in a fashion that concerned yet excite her.

His hand slipped under her blouse, grabbed a breast which felt fuller in his hand. Her breath caught as he kissed her in a location he had never travelled before, a wave creeping over her face. Their eyes locked, Rukia unsure of his next move.

She let it loose: "There's something _feral_ within you."

Ichigo scoffed. "The only thing _feral_ is the man beneath this skin. And _he_ _bites_ _harder_ than I normally do." He kissed her again in the same area, causing her to arc her back.

"_Ichigo_!"

His hand swept under her chin and through her soft silk hair, the ends dancing on his fingertips. He observed this with boredom, with jealousy."Your hair's in good condition. They kept _you_ pretty."

She looked at him again, a tremendously large blush coloring her cheeks. The voice hadn't been Ichigo's talking. It _was_ his voice, but not the personality of the man she knew.

This Ichigo eased up a bit, changed his tactic. "_C'mon_. I need a _good night's sleep_ or I'll never be the same."

_You aren't the same, _she thought as his lips dipped to her skin again, trying to make her body ready for him. When his fingers gently brushed against her stomach she'd had enough. "Ichigo, _stop_!"

She pushed his face away with her hand, forcing him off her nearly-nude body. Her underwear remained intact, though her new lace bra had shifted from his tricky fingers. Ichigo looked at her sorely upset, touching where her nails had dug in. Violence would be an answer always if he refused to realize the consequences. They both huffed heavily, intimacy making them overheated. "_What _has come over you? Has the heat really screwed with your brain that much?" She pulled the blanket back around her shoulders, enveloping her form like a gooey marshmallow. The forced turn-off made Ichigo scowl.

She softened her tone, yet ended with a punch. "You think you can get a good night's sleep after having your way with me? _You're pathetic_."

His rage towards her at that comment did not shock nor surprise. But it did startle her. It was a look of despise straight into her tarnished center, minus her growing misfortune.

Begrudgingly Ichigo seemed to catch himself, hiding the irrational hate and buried it back down. He dramatically dropped to the bed, sighing all the way. Rukia shook her head. Ichigo faced away from her, staring at a dresser instead of the snowball she rudely hid herself in. His hand went back to his face absently, staring at it until instantaneous information swarmed into his mind. His brain worked like a supercomputer, displayed the facts like a child's pop-up book.

He studied the lines on his palm, examining his fate line with vexed entertainment.

Ichigo kept quiet for longer than she expected and tapped him with her foot. "What are you doing?"

" . . . Practicing chiromancy?"

"_Palm reading_?" she gave a small laugh before sinking into her plumpy mallow. "Trying to decipher our future? Or yours for that matter."

"I'm just trying to _distract_ myself, _alright_?" he responded harshly, though she skillfully hit the nail on the head.

Rukia blew at the strand in front of her face. These mood swings of his were getting on her nerves, and they hadn't been free a week. At this rate maybe she should have let him do her, would've made it easier to say he got her pregnant than waiting longer than she should to tell him . . . or find another solution, which she couldn't or she was literally dead thanks to the haunting black mirage watching her every move.

Ichigo forced himself to sit up, turned to face her. He had that painfully beautiful look in his eyes, nearly winning her over. The man she knew had returned . . . somehow.

"Look, I'm sorry, alright? I don't know what came over me."

"_Hm_." Her poker face remained. "No, it's not alright. I can't and won't have you take control over me like that. Especially when you're not in your right mind."

He unknowingly frowned as to what she meant. "What do you mean?"

She gave him a look which made Ichigo more clueless. She sighed. "Since we escaped, your mood has been very temperamental. You've jumped through more emotions in three days than a car through flaming hoops."

"Well, _gee_, do you think it's 'cause I'm getting over whatever's in my system?" It was a semi-sarcastic quip, but Rukia didn't argue.

"Possibly. _Did you_ sleep at all last night?"

Ichigo waved that off, signaling to her he didn't like a yellow flag on the field. She changed the subject, trying to get him to keep talking, to divert away from the internal beast lusting after her. "Well, did you see your future within your hand?"

"Just that I'm strongly controlled by fate." He barked a laugh.

_Day 4. 8:47 a.m. Somewhere outside of Colorado. _

The common phrase of "good morning" from one person is usually never responded directly the same way when replying. A _good_ morning would mean that the person felt awake and ready to conquer the world, slept well and had pleasant dreams, felt rejuvenated, became optimistic about the idea of waking up and rejoining the cycle of life in the rotating world. That's a basic idea of what a good morning could mean to the average person.

A good morning meant having successfully avoided cops, guns, coyotes, and problematic bounty hunters searching for them throughout the previous night. A good morning meant remaining under the radar of suspicion.

They were at a gas station, Ichigo filling the tank with premium as she swallowed some nausea medication. It was early, but it wasn't a horrible time to be awake while on the move.

It _was_ a decently good morning . . . until Rukia mentioned this supreme theory that he would've never realized without her insight.

"_WHAT_?!"

"It's true! Haven't you noticed? We haven't spoken a_ single _word of Japanese since we escaped!" She paused, almost choked on her pills. "And even before that we were speaking English!"

"_Huh_?!" He withdrew the nozzle fast without thinking, nearly spilling gas on his new jeans. "_Agh_! What do you mean?!"

"_Idiot_! We're speaking English _now_! _Perfect_ English! And weren't you the one that said you sucked at English in school?"

He stopped dead, alarmed confusion making him silent. People were staring at his stolen baby like usual, but it felt like they were watching and waiting for his reaction. People getting gas looked at him with curiosity. He knew they were watching him, he wasn't an idiot. All these drug enhancements made him _very_ aware of another's energy being focused on either Rukia or himself. It wasn't paranoia making him on edge.

Maybe they were staring at the bright tufts of hair peeking out from under his hoodie like people used to when he was younger, but greatly doubted they cared about his pretentious locks at this current hour.

Rukia broke his stupor with, "Quick! Say something in Japanese!"

"_Tatoeba, don'na kotodesu?_"

Surprise came across Ichigo's face as the words left his lips before he could even think to speak in his native tongue. _Weird . . ._

"I don't know . . . say you're from Japan or something," waving his question off.

"_Rukia, I'm speaking Japanese right now_!" he continued in the same language.

The perplexed turn of her head gave him a jolt. "You are?"

"What the _fuck_?!" Ichigo screamed, but the filter had been switched back into American-English. "Were we programmed with the _Rosetta Stone _or something?!"

"_Calm down_," she harshly whispered. People had begun to watch their interaction rather than take interest with the Lamborghini. "And anyway, maybe it's not so bad." Rukia was looking off into the distance as she said the words with thought. "It's very helpful to us if we're going to be stuck here for God knows how long."

Ichigo frowned, sighed, rubbed the back of his neck. "What d'you wanna do?"

_Day 4. 11:06 a.m. Somewhere outside of Colorado_.

Sitting pretty and enjoying the weather just as any recreational sports vehicle should, the Lamborghini felt strangely abandoned when it's current owners left it hiding in a lot where people couldn't appreciate it.

Parked far away outside of a new-age bookstore Ichigo and Rukia had been in for hours, the jealous glances of people who knew they would kill for a car like that shunned the Lamborghini because of its obscure nonexistence away from the test subjects.

Toward the far back of the store where all the delicately placed language books were kept, it had been overrun and turned into a mini HQ. Heavy dictionaries piled on top of one another appeased the guise that the renegades were cramming for an exam, their youth adding bonus points. Another was tossed on the side table as Ichigo bent over it, treating the book more like a _manga_ as he flipped crisp pages. Pulling apart dozens of books on dialect and proper vernacular, both skimmed the information hidden inside, trying to come up with witty sayings in that particular language to see if they knew and understood what the other was saying. It was as important to find phrases as a pep rally was to jocks and cheerleaders.

Ichigo held a notepad, crossing out languages as they went down the list. Rukia withdrew another textbook, the shelf warped from the lack of hardcovers and portly paperbacks. Barely skimming the title she read aloud, "Italian."

He thought of something to say, a fine-tipped marker dancing between his fingers as the seconds ticked by, and smirked to himself when he came up with a sentence. Ichigo may have been paying close attention to every detail in each page he read, but the girl surrounded by these books appealed to him more. She looked simply ravishing in her slim-fit dress, one he had picked out for her with a knowing nod.

Rukia was standing close to him, perfectly innocent as she skipped through random pages from a French workbook titled _Allez-Viens!_ To tease her he bent down and breathed into her ear, wound his arms around her body.

"_Del tuo corpo mi fa impazzire."_

Rukia bristled. His fingers slid and pressed near her womanhood, her dress a weakly thin barrier from his excited fingers. Her heat made him press closer, a simple imprint of two while they remained alone. Rukia felt ambushed but neglected as he pulled away from her, she turning to show him a flustered look and received a pleased (and amused) one from him. He folded his arms over his broad chest, the fabric taut against his tasteful muscles. "That look means you know what I said," Ichigo laughed. The marker was brought straight across _Italian_, blotting out the word with an inky black swipe. The cover flipped shut.

Rukia shoved the book back into its former place, trying to hide the heat creeping up to her face. The bowed bookcase swayed from her misused thrust, her dress catching in between the bindings, and she had to yank the hem to hide her gorgeous legs from his wolfish gaze. _That bastard_ . . . He didn't say too much to make her blush brightly, but knowing that her body was a distraction for him was enough. His words had been so filled with lust they were like a pressure for sex and turned her on. Italian _was_ a romance language, was it not?

The hunger for her was returning, and this bookstore would not be a safe haven if shoppers wondered why a dress was on the floor.

She cleared her throat, attempting to pull her thoughts away from him and the hot ideas she now had. "How many languages are we at so far?" her voice cracking; the blush bright now.

Her hair covered her face, so he didn't see her ornate expression. Ichigo flipped the notebook open with his thumb and slid his eyes down the list. "Ten," he said dully. "Japanese, English, Chinese, French, Spanish, Vietnamese, Russian, Portuguese, German, and _Italiano_." He looked back up at her. "Should I add _Greek_ back onto the list? Neither of us knew it well enough to say a full sentence, and the bits of _Afrikaans_ were difficult too."

Ichigo dropped the list onto the floor, found a plush leather chair and fell into it. "Geez," he said, "I can barely wrap my head around any of this."

"Me too," Rukia agreed, pulling out another book only to slide it back in. They already looked at this volume on _Basic Portuguese for Dummies_. "And no, don't bother adding it to the list. We couldn't really say anything in Greek besides "Hello" and "Good-bye."

"Plus the language is a bitch to write in."

"Charming as always," Rukia bit sarcastically.

"_Mm-hmm_."

They both settled into a quiet moment after that, never to fully understand why they could speak so many different languages or for what purpose it served either of them. Ichigo placed his elbow on the armrest for support before his face sunk into his palm, thoughts muddled as he stared at the little notebook on the floor. He groaned, switching tactics by staring at the ceiling, hoping for answers up there.

Rukia's back was towards him, and she drifted from the world, floating in unchartered terrain as her thoughts wandered.

She gently put a hand on her stomach and brushed along it casually, not to thrust any suspicion her way that she may be hiding something there. Wondered how long she could hide in the open with her palms painted red. At least she could find enjoyment by looking at the small rosettes on her printed floral dress.

"We should probably get going," Rukia said after a long pause, her mind loosely gripping the thoughts of not telling him that she was pregnant before disappearing into one of the many caverns in her mind.

Ichigo noticed an almost tiredness in her voice. The ceiling hadn't given him jack, so he watched her with interest instead until she spoke. Found her strange natural grace comforting while she ignored him. "Yeah," he agreed without enthusiasm. Ichigo groaned as he stood back up to his full height, exhausted from their fourth day of "freedom." And it wasn't noon yet. Ichigo only wanted sleep.

She was also exhausted, needing rest from the early pregnancy and slight nausea that still plagued her in the mornings and evenings.

It would have to be this week, she thought miserably as her cheek planted against his hard body. A hand rested on her head. An embrace between the two was shared, given the benefit of privacy in this popular home for literature.

He would have to have sex with her sooner or later, and the plan she invented was worthy of a capitol offence. It was a sick plan, but it needed to be done. Whoever's child she was carrying, Ichigo could never know. If he did . . . the strained bond they shared would be severed indefinitely.

"Rukia," he started, "let's not worry about this language barrier thing. We've got bigger issues to deal with than worrying whether we can vocalize _Communist theories_."

"Ichigo—"

"What we _should_ be thinking about is how much money we got and what to spend it on next. I've been meaning to buy binoculars and I think that pawn shop next door might sell them. I'll be there if you need me." And he released her like she was on fire, their tender moment shattered.

Rukia nearly fell over from his body not supporting her, Ichigo's comedic timing horribly executed.

"We shouldn't split up!" She called, halting him. Was he _asking_ to be recaptured?

He put his hands into his pockets, rolled his eyes before looking at her. "Look, I'm just gonna be right next door."

"I know but—!" She hushed up her tone, paranoid. Rukia then switched into her native tongue, the Japanese sounds more comfortable in her mouth at the moment. "_You never know_!"

"Yes-I-do," he said with cockiness, attitude of a delinquent. But he replied in the American accent. "I won't let those _bastards_ stop me from _living my life_." And he made it a point to say it louder than she would've liked. Rukia shook her head, embarrassed for him.

She returned to her American accent carefully. "Buy me a pair too. And some other supplies if you see fit."

He grunted a reply, walked away and got an onslaught of women young and old observing him, brazenly checking him out. The grip one woman had into her smutty Romance novel while openly watching the renegade pass by allowed her a broken nail, chipping paint.

Ichigo either didn't notice nor care. Those vultures didn't interest him the least.

Rukia laced her fingers together, bowed her head as if in prayer. She thanked whatever benevolent spirits were watching over them, thanked them for having Ichigo by her side in this new life. _If only it could last _. . . She was scared though she tried her best to hide the pain behind a pretty veil.

Except fear led to her own abrupt switch in moods, irritation tapping out.

She only realized after he walked out the door—he left _her_ to clean up their book-fest! What nerve! She huffed, ready to smack him if he had the balls to come back. _Which he didn't_. And there were books taken from tall shelves too! That was just not fair! It didn't take her long to return every book in alphabetical and chronological order, but it still pissed her off.

She didn't care to buy any of the language books, it was a useless feat. Something Rukia did find worthy to purchase was a French collection of tales, _La Belle et La Bête_ headlining a red moleskin cover in gold lettering. The tale of _Beauty and The Beast_ was one much like their own, but roles could be reversed. She wanted to read the fable she had only seen on film.

And prayed it had a happy ending.

_Day 5. Southwestern location discredited. _

Ichigo got progressively worse the next day. Aside from training until he literally made himself collapse, he wasn't sleeping at night and had barely slept the previous night again. Not to mention his _libido_ was starting to wane on Rukia. He cornered her on the bed when she was reading that night, much like before, abusing her with rough hot kisses she didn't want, removed the fairy tale from her hands before she could mark where she left off. French wouldn't make her sing the falsettos he wanted to hear, he said. Ichigo was turning into an insomniatic animal, wishing for her to comply and stop _cock-blocking him_.

He needed to kiss her, to touch. Would've given his soul away if it made her happy. Needed to feel some kind of love, he said.

It was all that remained that was . . . _human_.

She pushed him away, his eyes filled with confusion.

"_I don't understand why you won't have sex with me_!" He exclaimed frustrated as she locked herself in the bathroom, trying to take a bath and get some peace, hot running water drowning out his words.

"_Because you're not you_!" She shouted back, slipping out of her skirt and cream top.

Ichigo growled, wishing that he could have target practice with the bathroom door.

Manipulation wasn't a strong characteristic he had, chose to use it at the worst of events. Such as this, forcing her to hide in the _water closet_.

He looked at the digital clock next to him. "_Day six_," he muttered, falling into his bed. _This is hell_, he thought. Ichigo shut his eyes, the faintest feeling that he might actually drift off more than welcome to the battered test subject's anxiety-filled eyes. Ichigo was tumbling, tipping on a verge of excessive madness, draining him like a faucet.

The feeling was contemptible, an infamous man who was disregarding everything he wished for himself and Rukia when they were escaping.

He had wanted to _live_.

Now he wanted _out_.

"Take my soul now," he whispered. Half-hoping he would be heard.

And Rukia heard. The water she sat in became unsatisfying, drew chills into her veins.

Manipulation wasn't a strong characteristic she had, but her will to use it overcame her, a massive tidal wave drowning a surfer, no leash tying him to the board.

So Rukia drowned in that pressure. Damned him, damned herself for needing to be so conniving and sneaky to deceive him.

If she was going to have sex with him it would be under her terms, not his.

If it's what he wanted and needed so badly . . . to live . . . he would receive it.

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><p><strong>Weee! Next chapter's gonna be intense! :D Comment, fave, tweet, #, follow, do-what-cha-gotta-do!<strong>

**And I meant to originally post this, but what Ichigo asks in Japanese is along the lines of "Like what?/What do you want me to say?" and then in Italian, "Your body is driving me crazy." :D**


	11. On Fire

**Happy New Year! Yay! :D I'd give this year a B personally. I was asked to add more fluff, so I went beyond that simple request, ha. Soooo, fair warning! It's about to get intense! And yes, a good majority of the story is based on lies and doubt between Ichigo and Rukia. It creates angst and tension! Hopefully not annoyance from the reader's POV. (Idk, does it?)**

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><p><em>If I strike this match I'm not sure that it won't set on fire . . . <em>

_Day 8. 9:13 a.m. Near the Four Corners, New Mexico_.

A solo sentence was what sent her on edge. It was like a knife poised above an exposed wrist, tip down.

"Are you sure you're not pregnant?"

Rukia spluttered her drink, making a mess over the glass table . . . more importantly herself. Ichigo felt a twinge of disgust at the sight. Blood, bullets, and dismantled corpses were fine, but breakfast in bed was not his forte. Well, they weren't in bed, just outside on the deck of this particular motel.

She could hardly indulge anything of substance because of nausea, and now her spilled drink pointed a wet finger at her clumsiness. The cozy little spot they nuzzled into only broke peace when he offered that appalling question. He might not have been able to sleep, but Ichigo stayed sharp.

Rukia gave a mangled response, "Of course not, you idiot!"

Ichigo sniffed and gave a head-toss. "Well quit forcing _Saltines_ into your stomach and eat some real food for God's sake!"

Ichigo stood, searching for reassurance in the distance. "You sure?"

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. _You want the truth, Ichigo? Yes I am. And I know deep in your heart you know it's true, but you won't accept it because you're blinded by your pride and faithfulness to me. I don't need a charred ghost to tell me to fear you if you knew the truth. I can feel the aura you give off at night when you're most vulnerable. We may have equals, but I'm at odds compared to you._

Rukia lied again.

"_Yes_," she confirmed.

He became soft, the power of self-protection blowing through him like the passing of wind. Yet he didn't look at her. "I believe you."

The knife lowered, hovering above her veins like a critic scrutinizing artwork.

She remained safe . . . for the moment.

But Ichigo was like a _yuurrei_, a spirit that cannot rest. He would spiral and whirl until the end of time, immaculate power his driving force even after he left earth . . . and Rukia blinked, wondered why she thought that.

So she distracted him, distracted herself from the idea.

It would've been better if he'd kept quiet, but while they talked Rukia had said something weird. She wanted to go _shopping_.

"Weren't _you_ the one who said we shouldn't split up?"

Ichigo got a smack in the head for that one.

A woman needed time to herself to "spruce up," Rukia explained. Men couldn't understand the world of preening as seen through the eyes of a woman, especially that of an _upper-class_ woman. "Freedom to do as we like should be respected and—!" _Blahblahblah_. He lost interest. Whatever the hell went on in her mind was an outside world deeper and farther away than Jupiter. If she was gonna go plant shrubbery or make herself look pretty he didn't care to know. Ichigo was busy daydreaming about what _he_ wanted to do, preferably her.

He folded his arms on the round table where their light breakfast ended with a splash, eyebrows perched in an unsightly manner as she caught on to what he was thinking. He scowled when she smacked him again. "Will you _cut that out_?!"

Irritation did not make his partner meek nor sway. "_Idiot_. You know just as well as I do. Prey found within close proximity to one another are more likely to be hunted. Being an intuitive target will allow us to avoid capture longer. We won't be hunted as easily and we won't be killed." The seriousness of Rukia's tone was deadly. Ichigo took her load of bullshit with a grain of fine sand.

"And you still want to separate. Going back on your word doesn't suit you, Miss Kuchiki."

Rukia watched him from the corner of her ocean-blue eye. Calculating her next words carefully.

You didn't have to be an enhanced test subject to realize their relationship was different.

They balanced somewhat against one another on _some_ magical scale. _Yin_ and _Yang_, a steady spiral encircling the other in an everlasting loop.

If they didn't have sex it wasn't a problem like with some people in other relationships. They were friends first and foremost. Intimacy came later, if at all.

If necessary.

Ichigo had never demanded anything of carnal desire from Rukia before, nor had he been so adamant about having sex with him in the past. The beast within was pawing until he gave an inch, sharpening its nails until the soft fleshy sinew behind Ichigo's rock-hard abdomen burst out, boiling weakness like a geyser.

The man across from her was misrepresented: disgruntled from these past seven lackluster days, annoyed with her and her mystified tales of a woman's quest, sleepless nights filled with night terrors, and no aphrodisiac for a perpetual boner. Four stars that brought Ichigo Kurosaki no closer to getting his overall goal: fighting the enemy, regaining their lives, remaining alive.

"Don't worry." She smiled brightly as she stood to leave for her adventure. "A veteran defector never takes unnecessary risks."

Ichigo frowned as he watched her go, dark hair and skirt swishing from a light gale, melting into the sunrise.

What was the risk she was taking? he wondered.

* * *

><p><em>Nineteen hours ago. 3 p.m. Pacific Time. Day 7.<em> _California_.

The phone call had lasted less than a minute.

Their interaction was brief, cord phone crunched in Renji's anxious hand as his boss grew chillingly silent on the other end. The sunglasses normally perched on his head had slipped their way south.

And it had grown dark outside, just as the short conversation on the phone.

"_I need you to remain on stand by_."

"Stand by? What does that—?"

But the line already cut out, ending the call.

Renji slammed the phone down on the receiver, frustrated.

Ricki was nudged in a corner by the door, hardly fidgeting like he normally would in a chair that spacious. He looked scared, a real form of panic on his face rather than his usual blown-out-of-proportion expressions. He stared at his hands, clasped together in front of him like in prayer. He was forced to stay longer than his internship regulations allowed for a person not yet eighteen, and the unannounced uproar required compliancy from the boy, from the man mentoring him. He wished the result of Corrupted file.3 ended like a schlocky hero film, cheesy lines galore. "Mom's gonna be so mad . . ."

"We'll make sure she doesn't string you out, kid."

"You don't know her then. She's not abusive, but she uses the term 'foster mother' like a blessing. Makes me miss my parents . . ."

He wasn't fishing for pity, yet gained Renji's sympathy.

"Rikichi," he started, gathering a look from the boy, "whatever bullshit mess you've gotten into for doing my dirty work, I'm not gonna stand for them throwing you out."

"I'm gonna get thrown out?!" he screeched like singing banshees, raucous energy back in full swing.

The man scooted his leather office chair back, stood like a villain about to seize control.

"Stay here, Ricki. I'm going to see what the holdup is."

The door opened easily, but he was in for a surprise.

Two men with their backs turned were waiting for him outside his office. _Standing guard_. Both wore dark suits like his own, yet these men were unfamiliar to Renji. One was a scrawny-looking thing with a tuft of blond hair, the other with a stocky build and large facial features. They were also shorter with much less physical presence than he.

"What?"

"Mr. Abarai. We've been told you need to remain in your office."

"Which means you cannot leave, sir."

"We're under direct orders from Mr. Rotwood—"

"That you need to remain here presently."

He looked at the two with ill respect. "_Out of my way_."

"But sir—!"

"_Move it_! I don't have time for you lackeys! _NOW_!" And he forcibly pushed them outward, Renji's strength actually surprising them.

Renji hardly got in a decent step as they jumped him, children on a jungle gym, and his eyes burst wide. "_THE_ _HELL_?!"

"We told you, sir!" the blond cried.

"You can't leave!"

"Let _go_ of me!"

The twins were resilient against the con-artist, he putting up more of a fight than they would've liked, more kick than they thought he would give them. Renji's hair unfurled in the struggle, splashing one man's half-perspiring face with color while the other was whipped by the enflamed tail as Renji spun around. This had been the blond, who toppled over with a large clamor. The men were weaker compared to him, and Renji could've knocked them down harder with ease. But he let the twins struggle as they danced an intricate tango, allowing them to get the upper hand so he could figure out why the hell they were outside his office to begin with. The heavier one got a bop from their assailant's elbow, causing large tears to pool into the big man's eyes.

And _hell yeah_ he was enraged, but he didn't let it always cloud his judgment.

Renji was pushed back into his office like a child scolded and forced into a time-out. His white dress shirt had been damaged, more than a few buttons torn in the struggle, revealing some of his muscularity and stylized tattoos. His sunglasses had been snapped, and the delicate markings they hadn't known about blazed across his forehead in dark ink. The deathly look he gave the two men as he swung around made their blood run cold. Made them glad there would be solid doors between them.

They were huffing and puffing while the executive was nowhere near winded.

"You'll . . . be having a visitor shortly," the stocky one wheezed through his large nose.

"You'll receive . . . a message."

"_WHAT_ message?" he snarled, but the doors blocked the sound if his voice. Ricki ran to Renji confused, fretful he was hurt. The redhead pushed him aside, not in the mood for his concern.

Renji tried again, pounding on the doors angrily. They wouldn't open, wouldn't budge for the life of them. "Damn it! LET ME OUT!" he roared, the twins ignoring his request, probably fearing for their lives.

As long as the _big bad wolf_ remained locked in his cage, he couldn't do them any harm. No fear of catching hydrophobia.

After time his fists stopped pounding; gave in to the toxic ecstasy of surrendering his hubris. The realization of submission, his _obedience training_, came down to a simple conclusion: The enemy in need of being taking care of was subjected to the humiliation of ignorance.

Rikichi touched Renji on the shoulder, the man kneeling against the doors with his fists still locked, and Renji looked at him with haste, fear remaining in the teen's wavering eyes.

"It's like what you usually say to me," he began, mouth burning like it was on fire, "Just be patient and wait here like a good boy." I mean, you're _not_ a boy, but you were at one point! and probably not with those _forehead_ _tattoos_ either, _weird_, but you know what I mean. I think." And he tried laughter, making a dork of himself.

Renji found his idiotic humor comforting, a charm in a time of misfortune. He breathed heavily. If the test subjects ever saw this they would be engulfed in a never-ending laughter lasting until his funeral. Test subjects Six and Five most definitely finding this comical.

He thought of the two test subjects which escaped, wondered what they were doing. If they were as frustrated as he at this moment.

Were they scheming up some wild plan, a game changer in the making?

Were they happy?

Did Rukia know how badly he wanted to find her before the others did?

* * *

><p><em>Day 8. Location and time discredited<em>.

She was gone for hours.

After the first hour he should've started to worry. By the second he should've been biting his nails. At the third he should've gone looking for her.

It was an unenchanting find after she'd mounted the stairs back to their room.

He was laying on the bed watching TV, not awaiting her arrival with highlighted streamers or Mardi Gras parade floats, blank as black water on a moonless night when she entered their cove.

"Heya," she announced bringing in colored shopping bags, wearing a stylish gray coat meant for a fashionista or high-end retailer's Spring collection.

He saluted her with a weak greeting, sounds of raucous cheering avalanching from activity on screen.

He was bored out of his mind. Ichigo barely glanced at Rukia, hardly took in her unique attire. The one who was _dying_ a day ago to get his hands on her couldn't have given a flying fuck.

"Nice coat," he said mirthless, hardly admiring the military-stylized thigh-length jacket. It was fashion, which he didn't care for too much, but the generous donation to their escape left them with plenty of thousands to blow. He saw every right for Rukia to make herself glitter like a trophy.

_Yeah, what's under it is the problem_, Rukia thought, but she retained a casual smile. "It was on sale!"

The announcer on TV jeered. "_. . . And it's a foul ball_!"

He turned off the game, tossing the remote away.

"I never knew you to be a sports fan," Rukia continued though Ichigo would've rather remained silent. He scoffed.

Baseball never turned him on or interested him slightly, he just waited for Rukia to come back like a puppy sitting at the door with a leash in its mouth, awaiting its master to arrive home to take it for a walk. He couldn't care less if the Cardinals beat the White Sox. He also didn't pay attention well enough to tell which team was which. The insignia of the cardinal on their jerseys may have been obvious but . . . _feh_. Too many damn teams in this country to keep track of anyway.

He grumbled, shielded his eyes with his hands. "How much was it?" he asked with a bit of curiosity, but with enough disinterest that told her to make it brief. _Another mood swing . . ._

Rukia didn't answer.

When the jacket first slipped off her body, he glanced to see what the noise was, then put his focus back to sulking. But now his mind had completely gone blank. Ichigo snapped his attention to Rukia again, a double-take, sitting straight up in the bed, stunned, gawking at her choice of clothing.

His breath caught in his throat when he saw her.

"Ru-Rukia?!" His voice went slightly higher up when he said her name, taking on a new octave. His pants suddenly felt tighter than they already were. She looked like one of his wildest sex fantasies come true.

She was wearing a lace corset, garters and stilettos, and Ichigo had to bite his lip to keep himself from getting overexcited. _Lingerie_—the word itself was a turn-on in his mind, and now she was offering everything to him at this moment with wearing the clothing that screamed a bedroom affair—the color close enough to her skin tone he thought she walked in naked under that coat like a flasher. That idea also made his blood seek south.

She looked down at her body, giving the illusion in his mind she was checking herself out. But in Rukia's mind, it was an outfit a whore would wear; she felt disgusted in it and that she had even thought of wearing it to make him crawl into bed with her . . . Though she did like how it felt against her body. The inserted push-up was fantastic eye-candy.

"_Well_," she started walking towards him, his eyes slowly trailing up her body from the tips of her suede red heels to the light colored stockings bound to her thighs, the cool nylon hugging her gently curved hips, the mix of lace and satin stretching over her abdomen and bustier. "You said that you were going to give me the most pleasurable experience I had ever felt with a man before. So I thought I'd make it a little more _interesting_," a seductive purr leaving her tinged lips. She saw him gulp.

He remembered. He remembered those words _perfectly_. That had been days ago, but he never really thought she would go along with it.

And oh, it was _beyond_ interesting in Ichigo's perspective. And he was enjoying every second of it.

She hated to admit it, but she _loved_ the way he was staring at her right now, an animal parched and seeking relief in her pool of water. His mind had completely shut down at the sight of her. The nerves in her stomach jumped and tangled with excitement when she saw his eyes go dark.

He could feel his heartbeat quicken. The more he stared at her, the more turned on Ichigo became. He felt his chest constrict, a quickening to his pulse which made him pant. A blush came staining his cheeks, neck discolored red and heated. The closer she got the better he got to look at her. Even her eyes were sparkling. They were heavy-rimmed by dark liquid eyeliner and mascara, making sure to draw attention there first. A light pale, purple frost of eye shadow swept across her lids, completing the picture and making her look dazzling, hair sweeping gently on her shoulders.

When she finally got to the bed, _to him_, she raised her leg and swung over him, kneeling on the bed, sitting in his lap. _Straddling him_. He instinctly reached out and put both hands on her waist, making sure she was real. The blush begun to fade, and he fell deeply into her eyes, enchanting him with their mystique. Rukia's perfectly gorgeous ocean eyes, a distant deep blue holding him to the horizon.

Ichigo couldn't believe she was his.

She felt the tenseness in his arm muscles, wavering with a frantic twitch as he tried to remain calm, gentle as he held her. It was a powerful experience to feel his body quiver against hers as if he were fighting some fierce and violent urge.

But the way she was sitting on him he felt his body give himself away, if it hadn't already been extremely obvious. Those pants he wore _were_ tight. And she most certainly had to feel it _there_.

Ichigo's heated blush advanced for a second time to his cheeks, speaking her name huskily. She responded with a shove to the center of his chest, eyes wide from surprise at her forcefulness as he found himself on the bed and she above him.

Nails scratched his chest. He felt on the verge of a climax before they even got started. "_I don't want any part of you hidden from my view_." She yanked the chain hard from his neck and damned it across the room. The dog tag made a small _chink_ as it hit the wall, metallic scrape sharp as it fell quickly out of sight. All Ichigo could think was how hot that was.

The moment their lips touched she won—at least that's how Rukia thought of it. Ichigo held the back of her head to bring her closer, deepening the kiss until she gasped heavily for air. His scent was of spiced cinnamon and ginger, heavy and thick like haze.

What Ichigo also loved was how Rukia had this amazingly luscious pout on her lips, one you could put red lipstick on and she could pull it off without looking tacky. Lips more sinful than a succubus' worked down his collarbone, the sensuality of her creating a howling fury within.

"You only kiss me like this when you want something." He panted. He would've given anything to be within her sweet valley of warmth. "_What do you_ want, _Rukia_?"

Never had her eyes looked so large, so soft, so deep with despair.

"I want _you_, Ichigo."

She meant these words; they weren't just for his ears, but for her own. Besides trickery, this . . . _casual affair_, she wanted to have sex with him.

_Now_.

_Very badly_.

She dragged her lips away from his, pushing herself from him.

The warmth left instantly, and she felt cold.

He opened his eyes, milky and half-hooded, glazed after being shut for so long. Soft from passion, he watched as she drew back to his hips, devoting full-fixation on the woman appearing to hover over him. Her eyes fell to his belt, the one thing keeping him away from her. She brought her hands to it, loosening the loop and unhooking the buckle. She popped the button on his jeans next, hands lingering there.

"Rukia. _Please_," he begged.

She grabbed the zipper and began to pull down slowly, feeling the teeth unlatch one after another. When it finally hit snug at the V where the zipper stopped she let go. She could see his enjoyment rising up and Rukia actually froze in place.

How could she be doing this to him? To herself!

No, she couldn't, she had to stop—!

But Ichigo already thought of another idea.

He grabbed her, rolling the vixen to her back in that moment of opportunity. The girl had been spellbound by a simple trick. And the wolf was grinning down at her like she was a buffet.

As she tried to squirm away from underneath him he only clutched her tighter between his thighs, preventing a simple escape. The way she was pressing into him, _oh man_, it was _so_ hard to handle. He groaned thinking about how much he wanted her right now.

"Now, what to do to you in this position?" he asked her playfully.

She raised her head up and whispered something dirty in his ear, causing him to chuckle deeply in the back of his throat.

"You little slut. You've wanted me to do that to you for years." His eyes went dark with lust and there was a dark smirk. "_But I not gonna give it to you_."

She pouted displeased before he brought his face close to hers again. The kiss was rough and deep, but she liked it that way. The length of his shaggy hair tickled, excited her.

This corruption of love was rapidly changing into something more than erotic playtime. This was steamy, passionate—_intense_. She didn't mean to get him so riled up, but she was enjoying every second of it. This rabid animal he was becoming wanted nothing more than her body, which was the plan. He wanted her . . . but did he _want_ her?

The very tip of his belt skimmed the skin of her inner thigh, mimicking the feeling of him ready to claim her. She opened up to him, although his hand was more devious than the part normally covered by clothing.

"_Now_ _where's your weakness_? _Is it_ here?" Ichigo whispered as he stroked her, making Rukia give off a high angelic note. "Or is it _here_?" he penetrated deeper, making her shutter as a true noise of pleasure left her glossed lips.

He broke from kissing her to tear off his shirt, never taking his eyes off Rukia. He grinned like a wolf when he saw her face turn red after one glance at him. He joined her back on the comforter, kissing her roughly as his fingers slid under the corset to touch her bare skin, lace smooth and easy for him to unravel with his teeth.

She moaned, slid her fingers down his perfectly toned body until she hit the open snug in his jeans and slid back up his fiery skin, feeling the hard muscles in his abdomen, his delicious body turning Rukia mad with lust. His abs amazed her—solid and _hard_, just how she liked them.

She was getting so far into this deep into this Rukia wasn't sure where her acting stopped and where true intimacy and her sensuality began. She pulled away from him, his eyes opening as her own gave a quick sweep down his body before meeting his gaze.

She smiled as her itching aroused voice said, "You are so much sexier without that on you."

Ichigo chuckled when she said that, that wolf-like appearance about him back from excitement. He positioned himself closer, closing the gap until they could feel what each other needed so desperately in order to finish this—their—ritual. The flash in his eyes spoke only of sex, much needed for his part. And pleasuring his girl always gave him an internal thrill, knowing and feeling it every time when he had succeeded.

His heavy voice _sounded_ like a torrent of sex, craving it more with each word. "I bet you'll look just as sexy when I make you _scream_." His tantalizing smirk turned her on more than she'd felt previously.

Her only reply was, "We'll see," challenging him. Accepting fate.

He chuckled again, licking his lips from hunger, ready to impress her.

His hand skimmed down the rogue lace skittering across her front, covering everything he wanted to touch, to play with, to make love to. The curves on her body had been covered by that damned fabric, and he wanted nothing more than to tear it all off.

Which was what he did.

He gingerly slid a hand up her soft frame, taut against her warmed flesh, never removing eye contact from her. She was willing him on with just a quiet lusty gaze, and it consumed him to do just that: consume everything about her, love every part of her.

Without verbal command her outfit separated from her body in strips.

The garters were unbuckled, Ichigo feeling her smooth thighs, soft against his cheek while he watched for a modest reaction.

She was biting the tips of her manicured fingernails, her tongue gently washing over her tinted lips as large eyes filled him with continuation.

One by one her stockings were removed with gentle fingers, her second skin revealing a more beautiful, more natural color he liked better. The lace tying her corset and bustier made Ichigo furious, mainly because Rukia laughed at his attempt to untie her when he only made it less likely to come off.

She swatted his hands away, Ichigo waiting impatiently as she messed with him, taking as much time as she felt while he sat there trying to get his hands back on her. She repeated her gestures to wait as she "loosened it" for him, laughing at Ichigo the whole time.

But his patience paid off.

He pulled the lace and it came undone. He pulled her apart like colored wrapping on a present, risking the brevity of curiousness as to what hid beneath. She was worried he'd see the rise in her belly, the painful truth pushed up against his naked flesh, but all he paid attention to was pleasing her body . . . Everything he wanted to devour was exposed within the defunct fabric. He sipped her lips like an elixir, inhaled her aura instead of oxygen, skin sweet like spring lilacs.

She helped with the removal of his jeans, he kicking them away, relieved to be free from the encasement of compressed clothing, his bulge hard on her body.

Her driving kiss was heated and fiery, sparking an urge inside him, one strong enough to condemn them forever.

With a sweep the final piece of clothing hit the floor, and they were surrounded by only warm bed sheets and pillows and each other.

Ichigo dusted the bangs off her forehead, wanting to admire the beauty beneath. She opened her gorgeous blue eyes when he touched her cheek with his rough fingertips, hot from adrenaline against her cool skin. His hands were placed on both sides of her head, staring down at her like a treasure.

He gave her a loving smile. "_You are so beautiful_," he spoke in a sigh, voice rough . . . but also soft.

Rukia didn't reply, deep breaths willing the inevitable.

Above her head he laced his fingers in between hers. It was a bond, to tie one another forever. Passion danced within one another's eyes as anticipation strut forward unafraid.

The flower of her sex bloomed open and she ached for his possession. Her body raised her hips up to meet his, and he crushed his pelvis on top of hers. Then he was there as it was meant to be.

"_This may hurt a little_."

And oddly enough it did. She stifled a sharp gasp from the sudden motion when it felt like he stole her virginity. But Rukia eased, memories from that night snapping in her mind like a camera shutter until the second thrust rocked her back into reality.

She bit her lip to stop a moan from welling out of her. She opened to him more, wanting, praying he would go deeper until he could fill the hole, the hollow emptiness inside her. With that thrust Rukia's body trembled with excitement, the pleasure mind-blowing, her heart thundering a patterned storm inside her heavy ocean. Each thrust left her trembling for more, the perfect tightness between them making Rukia mad. She struggled to keep herself from moaning every time he rocked his hips into her.

For how long it lasted she didn't know.

Rukia felt as if she had disappeared from her own body, spirited away while her carnal desires remained intact with her flesh. She could feel the outside world, every emotion Ichigo poured into her, but ignored it as she retreated into her mind, drifting in the wind and swaying like willow tree branches.

And then _it_ was there, in her mind, her daydream away from the real dream of Ichigo making love to her.

_He_ was stalking her, decoding her emotions. The black devil was in her mind, poisoning her handsome tree and riddling it with fungus. Scorch marks beheld soft timber, the once green tethered leaves burning alive.

It had a quiet voice today, but it was loud and clear.

_Elegance is a beast. She stalks her prey, waiting for them until a pivotal point to strike and devour. Waiting for their guard to drop. _

Rukia turned to look at him, the figure almost human-like yet black as oblivion.

_I never thought you to be the beast, Rukia. I'm impressed._

_What are you going to do now that you have him under your control? _it asked as specks swarmed like locusts and sat on a crumbled stone turret before her, desecrating the tree by its irrepressible presence. _Will he love you after all this is over? _She could see bark peeling away from the tree as it shriveled in age and died before her eyes. _Would you _let_ him love you?_

_What do you know about love? _she asked, readying herself to freeze the suffering tree before it knew it had passed on. The carved sword she held in her hand had been formed by thousands upon thousands of icicles, shaped and hewn so that light could bleed through the crystal blade and not melt. Its beauty compared to that of diamonds, yet much more priceless. The black of oblivion refuted her brash alarm to harm him and reached out, appearing to admire the sword.

_That blade of yours can't hurt me, Rukia, _and itpierced through him, melting straight into it like a diseased cloud. Rukia gasped when it touched her skin, lifeless and numb like rigor mortis. _That blade of the _shinigami_ won't do you any good._ It swirled round her like a lazy tornado, enveloping her cloaked form in black until the idle rotations subsided and he moved on.

_I know that what you desire does not come from within the man above you, dear. He resides with the company. _He_ is your true family. The one you birth will become one with his._

Behind her, she spun around on point._ What are you saying? _Rukiagripped the hilt tighter, no fear that the ice would crack in her unsteady palm.

If she could see it smile she would have finally eradicated the devil permanently._ Ichigo's "love" for you will dry and wither like this tree. He won't love you because he doesn't want to _be_ with you._

_You're lying! _She shouted, but remained calm as her composure felt a twinge of pain.

_He won't accept you because he wishes to not be here, on earth, anymore. He wishes to die. _

_Ichigo is an idiot with a big mouth. He's never said that before!_

_Oh? But he said something like it last evening. _He paused._ You're a smart girl now. Do you know what eight ounces amounts to, Rukia?_

_What? _she asked angrily.

_It's a measurement for the soul. Upon death, eight ounces is expunged. The soul that leaves our body ceases to exist . . . If Ichigo wishes to revoke his soul, he will. He is capable of doing so._

_He _wouldn't_, _she yelled, but a fracture had formed in her hilt.

_That love will not suffice if he's dead, Rukia. You lose that eight ounces, and like your tree here, it will be corrupted._

She looked back with sorrow. Nothing remained of her willow tree. Not its tender beauty, not its tall mesmerizing frame, not its shade to hide and protect her in. And her sword had faltered, melting from the heat of the sun which never reached it before because the tree had always sheltered it from its rays.

_My advice? Torture yourself. You seem to be good at doing that. _It turned back to look at her, nonexistent eyes filled with condescension. _Remember Kaien?_

She was silent. Euthanized by the name.

_Who's soul do you think hurts the most right now? Yours? Or Ichigo's . . . or is it the innocent one inside you?_

Ichigo felt drops touch his skin, but it wasn't slick like sweat.

_What do I know about love? _He asked before blowing away into the wind like she had wanted, dreamed of in this world only meant for her.

She was crying.

_It's meant to heal, not harm._

"_Do you love me_?"

Ichigo had to think about the question for a minute. Not that he didn't understand, just that he couldn't comprehend what she meant as he lay half-deep within her. "_What_?"

"_I asked if you loved me_."

"_Why_—why do you, _nnh_, ask that?"

Her voice was little, a pin drop of sound on snow.

"_I heard you last night_," she began, insecure in her thoughts and words, her feelings as Ichigo's hips ground into her. "_What you said . . . about taking_ _your soul away_."

He stopped, looked at her, her skin glittering in the dim light, eyes blurred with tears.

"_I know you've been unhappy, Ichigo. This week hasn't been easy." _

_"Rukia—"_

"_But you can't sell yourself short_. _You _can't_ give up . . . I can't . . . afford to lose you_." She held on to him, worried he would evaporate if her palms couldn't sense him.

The rain pouring onto his heart felt heavy, lead pellets instead of hot tears.

He brought his hands to her face, the tears leaving an imprint into his palm. His expressive gaze salvaged her, brought her back from pain as brown eyes married the vast ocean to tenderness. He regained his train of thought momentarily, able to converse with her on a more natural level. "That wasn't meant for you to hear. And I'm sorry that you did."

He touched her lips gently, forgiveness pleading from his mouth onto hers. He went slowly, began to affect her again until the torrent of heavy ache between her legs wished he would bury himself inside her forever. "_Ichigo_ . . ."

He drew her up hard against him, she kissing him back with all the fervor in her heart.

Then he started slowly. "_I_ _shouldn't be the one causing you pain. I should be the one saving you from it_." He moved and Rukia moaned, bringing her closer. His lips touched her, caressing the crook of her neck with his smooth mouth as she writhed beneath him from the intimate joy. He steadied his rocking, lulling her gently into amnesia until her troubles crumbled like soot and ash, her worrying subsided. Even if only for a short fleeting moment. "_Rukia_. I know I've been a jerk to you lately . . . _but please don't be disillusioned_," he spoke through labored breathing. "_That pain I feel is a lie. I'm not hurting as badly as you think._" She shuddered beneath him as he held onto her, willing her to fall off the edge of desire. He whispered to her, dipping his lips, kissing her skin until he calmed her sadness, allowing the love to restart its flow.

Rukia had hardly dared to look at the man above her, too scared he would see the pain in her eyes, the weakness in her fluttering heart as he made it race. But he held her face in his hand, Ichigo in a daze, a passion-induced blindness as he thought over her words. He forced her to look at him. With finality, she witnessed the latch unbind; gave her all his emotions behind soulful eyes. "_Why did you ask if I loved you or not? Let me love you, Rukia_," he vowed.

"_Just let me heal you_."

The crisis came quickly, like an explosion that imploded soundlessly through them simultaneously. He buried his face into her neck and released his completion in a torrent of hot breath against her fevered skin.

"_I . . .Ichigo?"_

"_Yes?_" The heated breath of a whisper was about to make her come again. She tried to contain the pleasure in her body.

"_Don't ever stop what you're doing_."

He bowed down to that statement. A husky chuckle rumbled out of his love-drunk throat. "_Don't worry . . . I never will_." He flopped next to her, burying his face in the down pillows until he managed to calm his breathing. Both of them panted deeply, relishing the shuddering motions their bodies made. He felt accomplished, making her his for the night. Ichigo glanced over at her and smirked. She was still panting, her bare chest rising and falling at a fast pace; the throbbing between her thighs hadn't ceased its torment just yet.

He noticed the remaining streaks of tears dripping from her blurred eyes, wiping them away with his thumb tenderly.

Cautiously he closed the gap between each other, snuggling close with an embrace to cease her crying.

"_Rukia_?"

Silently she allowed Ichigo to love her again, and again, until morning, until he fell asleep.

But it was done. She could officially say that she was pregnant.

Rukia eyed the moon beyond the curtain. A halo of light glowed like an ethereal presence.

It was like a god telling her that no matter how brightly we shine, the radiance will definitely fade away.

* * *

><p><strong>Blah blah, like andor leave me a comment. And Hey! I noticed this recently, but was anyone a fan of the Bleach fanfic "_A Glass Orb_"? I hadn't read it for a long time because of school/theater, but I finally started reading it again—but now it's gone! D: The author too! I'm super sad cuz I couldn't finish it, plus I thought the author BlueTeam101 had a _fantastic_ story. Probably _the best_ Bleach FF I've read on ffdotnet. If you're reading this by chance Blue, I was hoping to finish it! Hope everything's all right!**

**I also got some ideas for this chapter from that old LoveDrop doujinshi _Strawberry 16_. Maybe you can make the connection? **


	12. Omission

There was something about the quiet of darkness that discomforted her.

_Tock_. _Tock_. _Tock_.

Or _lack_ of quiet.

_Tock_. _Tock_. _Tock_.

How long had that constant sound been flicking at her skull?

_Day 9_.

Keeping her awake and _alive_, aware of everything she should have shut out _hours ago_ when sleep . . . .

_Tock_. _Tock_. _Tock_.

Where the _hell_ was that sound coming from?

Curled into Ichigo's narcoleptic form like a fortune he couldn't bear to lose, Rukia had been in his arms the entire night. Her body was exhausted, yet the desire of sleep never occurred to Rukia. There were too many _darts_ being tossed back and forth in her mind, _tacks_ loud when they hit. _That_ _damn clock_ _didn't help either_.

Maybe it was the idea of literally hearing time pass when all she could think was how to _kill the ticking_.

Maybe it was because Rukia didn't know if _he_ was still watching her, laughing that all she had left amounted to a handful of glitter.

Her decisions were meant for their survival, and that meant _all_ of them. The child included.

She looked up at the man who held her unconsciously.

Whether a carnal or spiritually diverted experience, having sex _actually_ allowed him to have a decent night's rest. No night terrors keeping him alert, awake like she was now. Ichigo had been asleep for hours thankfully, his even breathing reminding her that they were still alive. Still fighting for their survival.

What a bad joke, she thought to herself.

At some point Rukia disentangled herself from a warm arm, rose carefully not to make the bed squeak.

Swished around in the sheets and pillows Ichigo looked like a modern artwork. He didn't notice her disappearance from his side.

She slid from the bed, bare foot touching a cold sheer relic which sent a zap up her spine. The clinging culprit was one of her stockings and she kicked it away.

If Rukia could've hummed a lullaby to cheer herself up she would.

A sudden pang of self-loathing and disgust breached her glass-like composure, eyes threatening the Truth.

She would never be able to forgive herself.

She had played with his body, and now she was going to be playing with his mind and heart.

The only advantage to any of this _was_ survival: surviving this sick game she was playing with him. Surviving a new world with a newly reformed man—a _test subject_ in the eyes of the Company, but a man who's instincts would not let them die like dogs.

She was lucky, save for feeling like a whore.

_Tock_. _Tock_. _Tock_.

A dress found shape on her form and she snuck out the front door, door squeaking like a horror movie cliché until she trapped Ichigo in darkness once more.

There was no second glance back at him.

Her imprint hadn't been away more than a few minutes before the wolf began to stir.

He groped the bed expecting to find a shared warmth, a supple body to cuddle against, but all he felt was a growing cold spot. Ichigo stirred himself awake, and upon not finding the girl he expected to be by his side, forced himself to shake the sleep away. Ichigo called out her name into the artificial night. "Rukia?"

Silence . . . except for the constant deep thrum of a clock's tick. There was a clock in this room?

He looked around their dark quarters, only finding the fabric which once belonged on her body last night, his own clothing scattered elsewhere.

Metallic steel pressed into his palm. Rukia might be in trouble! _Or_ . . .

Ichigo peeked through the slotted blinds, hissing as the sun touched his eyes. _Or she may just be sitting on the deck_.

Calming as he saw the girl sitting in a wicker chair, Rukia wore a faded blue dress with black tights, feet warmed by high-end slippers. She was not too far away from their room, but far enough away that Ichigo felt abandoned.

The suction from the door opening caused her to stir, Rukia setting her mug of chamomile tea down.

"You're awake."

"You left me again."

He wrapped his arms around her chest, drawing her into him. The silky movement of her hair tickled the skin on his neck. His lips moved to her ear, and almost in a pleading voice he asked, "_Why do you always make me wake up alone_?"

Her breathing stifled. Unable to deny that romantic question—and it was romantic to her—something in his voice sounded just so . . . _pure_, a true statement of his love of her presence, of Rukia's soul.

Except it was true. Every time they had sex she was always the one to wake up first and leave him there alone, sleeping without regret. He never felt her body shift from his side as she slipped away. He never saw her flee as if she were ashamed. Rukia couldn't help it though, just some impulse in her system made her not want to be with a man when they first woke up, especially after having their way with each other only hours before.

Or could it just be the fact she was pulling him into a twisted game where she knew half the rules and stumbled forward blindfolded as he was left thinking everything would be alright. _Normal_. But it _wasn't_ normal. She felt _guilty_ for using him like that, turning him on and making him have sex with her only to claim in a few days' time she was pregnant with _his_ child.

Damn her passions! Feeling this _guilt_. It was a dirty emotion, if it was an emotion to start with. She had to ignore it however; bury it down deep inside. _Forget_. Forget the trickery, the sex, the lies—the antagonizing _dread_ burning a hole through her soul as she remained like polished porcelain. She _had_ to do this though. _Protect this child with her life_. Oh, how she hated this!

She noticed and remembered his arms were still around her, waiting for a reply. He cradled her, protecting her with his strong arms.

Protecting her body like she couldn't protect him.

Rukia exhaled deeply. "I can't help it. It's just how I am."

Ichigo sighed into her creamy neck with her silken strands tickling his face, breathed in her sweet, light scent. "I know," he started slowly, "but you know it bothers me." He kissed the soft skin around her collarbone, obviously wanting more of her again. The greedy wolf gnawing at her was only acting on lust-driven impulses. In Ichigo's favor his hot kisses were having an early morning effect on her. First burning her skin with heat, a gentle kiss that felt like the breath of a ghost left Rukia shuddering everywhere. If they weren't wearing clothing, Rukia wasn't sure if she would've been able to contain herself, needless emotions getting the better of her.

His light butterfly kisses lingered, remained on her skin like birthmarks until they flew away dejected. Rukia still hadn't looked at him. She was enraptured by the smoky desert before her, sand vibrantly swirling against the sunrise. And Ichigo was jealous.

Envying what she dreamily gazed at, wanting to catch her dramatic diamond-glossed eyes from the sun's gaze, he moved beyond her sitting chair and turned, leaned on the banister like he owned it.

Her eyes, however, did not provide comfort to his spiteful being.

"What's wrong? You look so sad."

"It's nothing," she lied coolly, drawing her gaze finally away from the sky and observed him instead, eyes now bright and wide with a smile. "I think I'm just tired after what we did last night. The Company definitely made your body a lot . . . _firmer_, if that's the word."

"_Heh_," he rubbed the back of his neck slightly embarrassed and glanced away.

"You're cute when you blush."

"I swear I just get lucky."

"Well, you _are_ a _virgin_ after all," Rukia said with a wink.

Ichigo folded his arms and gave a huff, cheeks remaining red. "Virgin? _Please_. I lost it as soon as I turned eighteen."

"Sure you did," Rukia humored him.

_At least she can crack a smile_, Ichigo thought with bliss.

Rukia took up her mug with poise. "I'm happy to see that you're finally back to yourself."

"I never left."

"Could've fooled me." She sipped, stopped. "Ichigo, about last night—"

"Say no more. I've actually been thinking about this for a while." There was a thoughtful smile, a deadly one where all observing him would think he had something devious in mind.

And Rukia nailed him in the stomach, hoping to knock one into him, except she hit the solid muscles of his abdomen with just as solid of a fist. Both stupidly shook off the pain with soft grimaces.

"_Ow_. That's _not_ what I meant!"

"_Hmph_. Then what? I did _you_ a favor, so now you owe me?"

And that's where the smirk came back, Ichigo barely escaping her second mighty punch. She kicked him instead. Ichigo had forgotten how fast she could be and suffered for it.

"_Ow_! I meant a night out. A _date_. Tonight."

He winked before he breezed past Rukia, ignoring his pain, leaving her dumbfounded as his ego boosted. "Oh, and wear something tight."

_Tight_? Didn't he realize she was trying to hide her body from him?

"I-Ichigo!"

Ichigo smirked at her and grabbed a fat stack of one-hundred dollar bills, waving them in front of his face like a Geisha with an expensive Oriental fan. "Let's not spend our time wondering and start spending, hm?"

"Wait. How much _is_ that?"

* * *

><p>"Over $75,000 dollars?!"<p>

"And it's all tax free too. Not a bad deal, really."

_Forty hours ago. 4:05 p.m. Pacific Time. Day 7._ _California_.

In two opposite rooms, on two different floors of the building, the Company's walls rocked with dialogue. Whether they were of vices or virtues, no one could say. Conversations nearly word-for-word transpired between couples, and more or less someone was unamused.

Uryû Ishida was hunched over his paper-strewn desk in his cyborg, palms flat between files of stolen property and stuffed binders. The star-blue halogen glow normally customized to this room was abnormally bright for once, only because of the heightened hysteria between test subjects 15 and 14, the two missing for one straight week.

Oh, and the stolen 75k. Couldn't forget _that_.

Gin Ichimaru smiled vicariously, hands in his snow-gray suit pockets as he observed the younger man with genuine curiosity, wondering how he would react next.

All Uryû could do was stare at the findings this little . . . _punk_ discovered right under his nose. "This . . . can't be possible! How did _they_ get the resources?!"

"Someone must really like them," Rikichi pondered out loud as Renji collapsed into his leather chair, snapping closed his lighter as smoke drifted in wavelengths up to the nicotine-stained ceiling. Ricki tapped his lip, focused on trying to solve the riddle as his mentor induced himself into a smoker's coma. He snapped his fingers to indicate a plausible motive. "They have a lot of potential according to that quote I found." A crumpled wad of crisp printer paper emerged from his pocket, Ricki scrutinizing over the words. "Said they were "purebreds." Dunno what that means."

"Well, we can think and talk and come up with theories, but in my opinion, as you recall from our meeting with _Mr. Rotwood_, our plans will be compromised if we just chase them down. Like—"

"A fox hunt?" Uryû offered.

Renji blew more smoke into the room angrily. "Ricki give it a rest. I don't need an opinion as to _why_ those two escaped or why someone would _help_ them escape."

"But—!"

"_Tut_-_tut_. I thought we were better than this," Gin chided in such a way a trickle pricked up Uryû's back. But he wouldn't let it get to him.

"How did you know that?" Uryû questioned aloud despite his better judgment to ask anything from Ichimaru. "How did you know he would agree with you?"

Gin smiled.

"I just did what you asked me to, OK?!" His fingers scrunched into his fluffed hair. "I found it—I didn't think you would tell on me!"

"Ricki! I had to tell the boss! It was IMPORTANT!"

"Well, I mean _yeah_, but not right away!"

Rikichi sat back in his chair, sad puppy-dog eyes tearing up from the stressful situation. Renji smoked like a heaving locomotive, attempted to scrounge for a new hair tie since his had been _swallowed_ by the blond.

A knock came, sparking both their attention.

The door to Renji's office opened, and a sharply curved silhouette appeared in the doorway.

"Plans have been made. Dates have been set. We know what to do in _my_ department," Gin said in a way Uryû became more doubtful than he had before. "You need to not worry so much. You need to be more carefree, more _loose_." And the color of jade appeared in ravishing slits. "You need to keep your eyes on the prize," he said, thinking about something in particular, some_one_. Uryû remained focused on his detective work and didn't notice.

A cell phone pinged, and he turned to look at the man already gliding out the high-tech room. "_Ohh_. _Of course_. Our _date_ . . ."

* * *

><p>"Rukia, are you ready yet?"<p>

Ties were a process. Cross it, a loop here, a loop there, bring it over, under . . . and it _still didn't look right_.

Trying to remember how to correctly tie his tie without having a massive fit, Ichigo asked only to distract himself further from failing at something so damn _simple_. It took four more tries, but maybe his hands were only fumbling from the fact he and his lover would be alone together this evening, a quiet setting for a romantic outing. Compared to last night, giving themselves over to an evening without worry or lust would be, for lack of a better word, nice.

When he _finally_ got it done right, smoothing it down carefully, his answer came quickly.

As she came out of the bathroom her smell drifted over to him quietly, but his breath caught from one glance. She appeared to him like a goddess, a fair omen in a faltering nightmare.

A river had flown into her round eyes, making them glisten and shine under her ebony mascara and soft lavender eye shadow. The simple dress worn was sparkling red, her shoulders and upper chest bare with the sleeves diving past her elbows. The fabric curved around her shoulders and made a heart-like shape in the front, dipping gently enough to show a modest amount of cleavage.

And was it _tight_. Every curve she had on her body was shown perfectly in view, skimming the unholy surface and making every sinner want a taste of her. Her body was toned, the valley of her obliques taut to her frame. The fabric around her thighs and hips made her look sensual and supple in his eyes, and Ichigo needed a touch just to make sure she was real and not just another flirtatious fantasy. Rukia might have been small, but the long length of her exposed legs showed how beautifully sculpted they actually were.

She wore red peep-toe heels that added at least three inches to her natural height, and a devilish sexiness only she could pull off.

Ah, damn it, even her lips were colored a high sheen of gloss, tingeing them slightly pink to enhance their noticeability. She was being a playful vixen and she knew it.

If Rukia wanted to smack him around tonight she could forget it. _Well_ . . . at least until he wrapped his arms around her waist and seduced _her_.

"You look _incredible_," the wolf breathed out in an astonished voice.

Her eyes flashed towards him, completely ignoring his compliment.

He lifted her hand and delicately pressed his lips to it. "_Enchanté_."

She wrenched her hand away like it had been burned.

"Do you have a gun?"

Ichigo nodded and touched his breast pocket. "I've got several," he replied. "One here," he said, tapping the left side of his chest where an inner pocket was hiding, yet showed no shape of anything there. "Another hiding here," he pulled the edge of his black-blue suit-coat, indicating another inner pocket, "and I have one behind my back. What about you?"

Rukia gave him an annoyed glance before lifting her leg up and stabbing her heel into a chair cushion. She slid the hem enough to reveal a black holster strapped to her leg, unfortunately not back far enough to see any cute panties she might have worn. Or didn't wear. The gun was snugly attached to her inner thigh but allowed her to move around freely as the dress swayed around her legs perfectly—the perfect illusion to make sure no one saw anything coming. _A real life femme fatale_.

"_That's sexy_," Ichigo said, turned on by the placement of her gun. He just wished he could rip off the dress now in order to feel her skin next to his. As she brought her leg down Ichigo made his move. He was on top of her at once, kissing her full on the lips in one sweep.

Her breath rushed out at a hurried pace, his swift passion startling her. Rukia didn't want him loving her because it would only cause trouble for her. And her sins. But it felt nice. She forgot all too soon, and all too often how much Ichigo cared for her. Her eyes slowly closed and her hands clutched his dress coat, a strong male cologne mixed with his own natural scent of cinnamon and ginger heating her senses and alighting her desires. She returned his kiss slowly, making it build into something she wanted control over, disregarding Ichigo's spirit heavy and thick like haze. He overpowered Rukia with ease.

Ichigo cupped the back of her head in order to bring her closer to him and kiss her more fiercely. His body pressed against hers until she hit the dresser with her lower back, Ichigo shoving clutter out of their way. She had to place a hand on it to steady herself as he continued to ravage her lips and torture her body. He wanted her badly, _so badly_ at this moment, and with the way their bodies were positioned she felt him harden the more he pressed that part against her. His free hand roamed around her back and squeezed the part that he knew would make her squeal, which it did.

The breath that passed between them was heated by lust, and he gave a low chuckle when she tried to get the upper hand. Slipping a hand away from his coat, she slowly brought it lower until she pressed gently between them, pushing against the part rudely being thrusted at her. It made him groan from the delicious pressure, and he now moved his palm to her front, mimicking her. He grabbed onto her hip, getting a better hold on her between his body and the wooden dresser.

Then his fingers slid up slowly against her body—her stomach.

That's where she drew the line. Rukia pulled away forcefully, leaving him panting with confusion in his eyes. "Why'd you stop?"

"Save it for later, Ichigo," she sighed almost regrettably, taking deep breaths herself. "If this "date" of yours actually works out, you might get some later."

He liked the sound of that, even though she didn't really mean it.

His lips curled into a valiant grin, teeth showing. He watched as she checked her makeup in the mirror which he was using to fix his tie. "Well then, your chariot awaits," he said, gesturing like a prim butler towards the door. He pressed a hand lightly to the small of her back, but Rukia kept an even distance between them. She walked quickly enough so she would just be out of his reach.

She was hiding something from him again. A make-out session _that_ heated suddenly shut down? And though it bothered him, both getting into the Lamborghini quietly, he would not press her. Not tonight anyway. If he wanted to know what was going on with her he would ask. But he felt instinctively that this was something she would come to him with. He would always get his answer. It just depended on _when_ would be the best time to talk about it.

Rukia's eyes drifted out of the window, watching the lights flash by at light-speed before dissolving into another dash.

What he obliviously didn't perceive when she was looking at the mirror was that she wasn't checking her makeup, she was looking at her miserable reflection. She held on to her opposite wrist with an invisible clench, trying to steady herself, not wanting or needing a meltdown in the car.

A nauseating haze of artificial orange sunsets streaked by as the Lamborghini now flew down an open road.

"Where are we going, Ichigo?"

"You'll see," he teased.

It was like Ichigo had been coming here his whole life with the way he easily managed to maneuver through traffic and pulled up to the restaurant, designed like a rich mountain chateau. Aspen, Colorado, might have been dry as a bone currently, but its wintry feel never left as their urban surroundings succumbed to the live wilderness so nearby.

This particular restaurant had been given _five_-stars and _ravishing appeal_ to those who dined in it, Ichigo gossiped as a hostess led them inside, passing a stone "wishing" pond filled with live green shoots and large bright koi circling happily amongst themselves. The stone hedge protecting the creatures followed the couple until their course varied and the tumbling rush of water integrated talk and laughter.

Large-scale windows showed the open region and shadowy landscape as twilight took over, pinpricks of stars gleaming like ethereal crystals. Night soon waved over the land, and though darkness shut them out from the world, the warm undertone of _Blue Valley_ relieved any doubt they would not make it out of there.

With high dipped ceilings and extravagantly chained chandeliers, an open fireplace with sun-like flames licked silhouettes onto the varnished walls, embers hot and hungry as it feasted on the warm bodies keeping it alive. All and all, the girl was impressed Ichigo had managed to swing this.

"This place is beautiful," she admitted, enjoying everything about it as they comfortably sat.

He smiled. "Mm-hmm. Which is why I picked it. They've got _everything_ here." He leaned forward on the table, raising his eyebrows as if he were keeping a secret away from her. "They even have some of that _shira-tama_ you love so much."

Rukia's eyes lit up. "Really?!" A bright smile grew on her face, a nice surprise for a change. "I haven't had that in ages."

"_Authentic_ Japanese food. You don't find that too often in fancy restaurants. I made sure of that too."

"That was really sweet of you," Rukia said like a shy little girl, hunching her shoulders to match her words.

"It's nothing. Now that we're rich, we can do whatever the hell we want," Ichigo gestured widely like he owned the world. "In a way, _they're _treating us for the two months we spent caged up, the bastards," he ended bitterly, taking a sip of spring water.

Rukia agreed. Even with Ichigo's sour humor, it seemed the night was going to actually be a good one.

With menus in hand, a waiter shortly stopped by and welcomed them to the _Blue Valley_. "Can I start you with some drinks?"

"I'll have a Flirtini," she said with a cute wink to her partner.

Ichigo grinned at her gesture, and turned to their waiter. "I'll have something more manly than that."

The waiter chuckled. "Would you two also prefer a bottle of red Chardonnay? Quite a favorite here, aged over ten years. Circa 2001."

"That would be fine, thank you," Ichigo replied politely, the waiter turning to hunt down the expensive bottle with haste. "A Flirtini? Is that really a drink?"

"It is here apparently. Or would you prefer if I flirted with you the rest of the night instead?"

"_Maybe_," he said sliding a hand under the table intending to rub her knee.

Instead, the waiter returned with Rukia's pink drink and took off again while Rukia sipped with ease.

Ichigo watched as she gracefully raised the glass to her lips, taking a light taste before placing it back down on the table, licking her glossed bottom lip for the remaining drops. "Stop staring at me, you freak," she said with her eyes closed.

He chuckled, resting his cheek into his hand. "Can't help it. Least not when I'm looking at the most beautiful woman in the restaurant."

"Liar. That blonde-haired girl over there is gorgeous," she said nudging her head to the side, eyes still closed. Ichigo turned and looked over to where Rukia indicated, and agreed somewhat. The woman was sitting with an older gentleman who could have easily been her father in a corner of the room. There was exuberant laughter as she clapped him on the shoulder with drunken pride. She was wearing a tight floral-print dress with her bust popping, and strangely crafted open-toe heels. She was showered with glittering jewelry around her neck and ears, rings around her fingers. She smiled like a pampered model with her glossy red lips and perfectly manicured nails. Curves galore. Definitely a trophy wife. But she wasn't Ichigo's type, strangely enough.

"Yeah, she's nice. But I enjoy looking at you more."

Her eyes were harsh on him. "You sure about that?"

"Why are you comparing yourself to her? She's American! They all look like that here! Tits and ass galore! It's called _Botox_, Rukia."

"You know I don't like tight clothing." Her gaze fell from him and wandered absently around the restaurant, her mind on other things. "I can't even fill in this stupid dress."

Ichigo watched her carefully and raised an eyebrow at her strange actions. He would never understand women as long as he lived, and Rukia was no exception sometimes. She had been fine a minute ago, now spoke as if she had something _else_ to hide, the pink elephant in the room going unnoticed. Not knowing what it was she had to hide made him all the more anxious to get her to talk. Let her know how he felt though expressing his feelings felt off.

"I think you look great, Rukia. _Really_." He told her truthfully, wanting her to believe it as well. The lilac eye shadow highlighted her gorgeous eyes in the candlelight as they dared a pass in his direction. It was a look of a woman unsure of anything anymore, and it made Ichigo want to howl. He cleared his throat before going on, forcing her attention to him. "Listen, I don't know what's going on with you, but I _really_ think it would be good for both of us if you told me."

Rukia stiffened. The more Ichigo talked and exploited his tender thoughts the more Rukia became nervous that he knew or that he was going to find out, especially what was going on in her twisted mind. "I don't _expect_ _you to tell me either . . ._ "

She couldn't hear him. It was as if his voice dropped out of existence and was silent on her ears. Actually, all sound seemed to stop at the moment, which was strange.

She felt her heartbeat quicken; a sensation constricted her chest and lungs so she would positively have no air to breathe. Her neck _strangled_ by invisible hands. Rukia broke into a cold sweat.

The older man sitting with his vivacious blonde seemed to slowly acknowledge he was being observed, and turned his head to look at her. As if all time froze outside their visual exchange, Rukia came to realize he was not so old as they first thought. The hair color had thrown both of them off; he appeared not much older than Ichigo when he gave a crooked smile, but it was in the direction of the bombshell beauty. Gradually as the wine seeped into the inebriated blonde's rosy cheeks and the world around her became a blank, without losing contact with Rukia the man lifted a finger to his lips, and a large smile splashed across his face as eyes alien in color violated Rukia's very being. She gasped for air as terror ate her.

The sign of silence became the most frightening thing she had ever witnessed in her life. Jade wiped her mind like a violent sandstorm. She felt hands grip and touch her body all over at an exciting rate, her stuttering heart not allowing access to her own thoughts in regularity. Just two thoughts:

_They were here._

_They would kill them_.

She felt sick. She felt like she would vomit any second. Rukia's stomach was aching with nausea; her _soul_ was corrupted by chronic pain.

_She had to escape_.

"_I have to go_," Rukia said running from the table as fast as she could. She had slammed her knee but felt no pain as it bled. Ichigo's loud voice nipped away at her insides as he called after her alarmed, asking what was wrong.

She had booked-it so fast he hadn't time to properly react. The gun was gripped tightly just out of view under the table as Ichigo analyzed his fellow diners.

People at a table of six laughed as if they would die otherwise. The bar tenders continued to make drinks for a quieter gang. Servers went back to taking orders after the whirlwind of red flew past them. Other tables talked amongst themselves, eyes flashing in ward of the commotion the girl caused. The old man had scampered away with his girl, their corner table now vacant . . . Whatever scared Rukia off damn well made sure to be fuckin' sneaky about it. Ichigo wasn't having luck narrowing down his target with civilians in the midst.

"_Dammit_," Ichigo cursed, seething as he felt confined to his seat, unable to do anything about it. "Where the hell's that wine?"

* * *

><p>Rukia panted behind the security of the restroom door, relieved to be alone in a room which could accommodate five. Her heels slid, and she gave herself to the floor, terror-stricken.<p>

_Why? _Why_? Why did it have to be tonight? Why did they have to find her? _Andshe _fled_ leaving Ichigo at their mercy_ . . . _how could she be so_ stupid?! _Rukia withheld an outburst of absolute frustration, of ache.

She snatched the gun between her legs and aimed at the wall before her, ready for the air to snap as she pulled the trigger. By magic restaurant goers did not revolt in panic at the sound. Rukia simply watched the useless tool as it trembled in her hand, the safety on, for better or worse. It could do nothing to help her now. _It was the end_.

Her knee throbbed, red ooze nearly ruining the hem of her dress as it made an undulating pattern down her thigh.

The black devil hadn't spoken to her today, probably too busy winding up another fast ball at her heart. Could the silence have been a prelude to this? This meeting between test subject and . . . ? she couldn't think. Rukia had been reduced to a ragdoll. All that frightening power and fighting strength given to her by the Company zapped away. Spooked by a mystery man . . . what had he been to her, what _part_ of the Company?

Rukia came back into focus and deduced the situation carefully. If that man had been part of the Company, wouldn't they have already raided the restaurant by now? Ichigo wasn't about to give himself in. However . . . Rukia shivered at the memory. The image of him telling her to remain silent brought back the cold sweat. Could it have been a warning? To always watch their backs no matter what?

Rukia stood, was shocked to see her own reflection and pointed the gun back at herself. She was a stranger to her own eyes.

Her hair had lost its luster and now looked limp and distasteful from the sudden upheaval. Her carefully applied makeup lost its glow and was beginning to fade. Wet marks around her eyes allowed her mascara to run. The dress would've been _hot_ on that other woman, but not her. Her head dropped. _Torture yourself_. That had been what that bastard told her. And he had been right, the pain and self-torture would never stop as much as Rukia wanted to hide it. This image, this _visage_—it _disgusted_ her! Like a magnet all the pain leftover from last night siphoned inside her.

How could she be doing this to Ichigo? She loved him, _didn't she_?

"_Miss_, are you alright?"

Rukia looked into the mirror when she heard the voice and whirled around, fingers digging into the marble countertop, her heart jumping out of her fairly visible chest. The gun barely made it behind her back.

A confused looking girl with brown hair and glasses appeared, the door to the restroom still partially pushed open. She wore a neat blazer and black apron, hair tied up in a heavy bun. She must have been one of the restaurant's employees.

Before biting her tongue, Rukia strangely blabbed. "I'm . . . I'm just pregnant, you see," she managed to say with a cheery smile. "I'm on a date with my husband. I-I just found out the other night, and I was going to surprise him. But if you see me with him, don't say anything, 'cause it's a surprise!" Rukia beamed.

The girl had noticed Rukia wasn't wearing a wedding band, but kept that to herself. "Congratulations, then!" the girl replied.

Rukia nodded and hurried past her, the gun snug back in its holster by magic. Her nerves hadn't eased. Her fate would refuse omission.

Ichigo sat nursing his wine, brooding as he refilled his own glass and swirled it for a better taste. The bottle hadn't been with him more than five minutes and it was already half empty. He hadn't noticed she was by his side until Rukia tapped him on the shoulder.

The light in her eyes had faded indefinitely to nothing.

"I'm sorry, Ichigo, but can we leave? I feel—" and she looked toward the table where the man and woman had been, but they had already gone—"_terrible_."

* * *

><p>When they returned to their hotel that night they were both silent. There was too much silence lately, and he didn't like it. Rukia sat on the edge of the bed, taking off her hundred-dollar shoes and sighed at the relief.<p>

He never imagined himself being buzzed on _wine_ of all alcoholic drinks, but Ichigo watched her from the door in a daze. Wondering, what could he do for her? She was ignoring him again, but the tension was there. He acted on instinct. To protect her.

Ichigo gave her a kiss on the lips. It was tender and loving and she really needed it.

She was confused, stress under her eyes. "Why did you do that?" Rukia asked strangely.

He gave her a small, sweet smile, a sloppy shrug. "You just looked like you could use one, that's all." His eyes were that lusty dark brown color, the one that meant he was either aroused or so full of emotion that he didn't know how to release it. Ichigo wasn't one to completely express himself unless he was sincerely passionate over it. He leaned in again to kiss her, but pulled back to give her space instead. The movement was also sloppy. Ichigo forced himself up and moved away.

The fool was more drunk than he thought. Ichigo couldn't hold liquor well, and at this rate he would never get to bed.

"Wait."

He stopped, looking at her puzzled and waited for her to reply. She bit the inside of her lip as she stood up. "Let me help you with that," she said, pulling off Ichigo's suit-coat until she held it in her hand.

"Uh . . . thanks?" he said, not really needing any help with removing his clothing at the moment, but his senses heightened more now by Rukia's odd actions.

"No problem." She gave him a weak and bruised smile, one that looked like she had been beaten, and even worse, abused. She walked away from him, bringing it to the cramped coat rack which could barely hold anything on its bar.

She raised the fabric to her nose and inhaled deeply, his scent still lingering like a heavenly aroma. Then she brought it away and looked at it with glassy eyes. "It smells like you," she said softly, almost impossible for him to hear. Ichigo still did.

His tie had been loosened around his neck and the buttons to his dress blouse were undone, exposing the front of his perfectly muscled body.

He had no idea what was wrong with her, and it was making him exhausted with worry. He stared at the floor, contemplating of _any_ idea that would be able to make her happy once more. He didn't know how, but Ichigo _had _to make her feel better. He sighed at the fatalistic decision. Maybe he was the one who always had to protect her since no one else could, and maybe if he could succeed in being able to gain her trust once again, maybe then she wouldn't be so afraid and estranged to him. He needed her, and she needed him.

"Rukia?"

She looked up at hearing her voice being called and he motioned for her to come closer. She hung his coat up and walked over to where he was sitting on the bed, admiring his open chest with deeply quiet blue eyes, ones so conflicted lately. She stood calmly in front of him, and he reached out and held her hands with his own. Ichigo sighed, looking up at her with uncertain eyes, and she looked back down at him, all alone and uncertain herself. All they had was each other. No conspiracy would drive them away from the one they loved.

* * *

><p>He made love to her that night, putting as much passion, desire, and love that he could express with his body towards Rukia, hoping something good would come out of it. He took it slow, being gentle with her in ways that would drive the average woman to insanity from the pleasure. Ichigo focused everything he had to try and make her understand that he would always be there for her and that nothing would ever change the way he felt for her. The deeper he fell inside her, the more he was positive Rukia could feel what he meant. They were soul mates, and that would never change.<p>

Rukia could actually feel the passion behind his movements as each one struck a chord within her, slowly building her battered heart and stressed body back to what it originally was. She did feel better now in a way, and there wasn't any reason to start over. By making love to her it actually made a difference.

By doing it, it set Rukia's resolve to continue with her tirade, and Ichigo to remain clueless as to what was happening to her. Tomorrow would mark the date to when she would tell him that she was in fact pregnant, and that he, _he_ . . . .

She clutched the bed sheet beneath her, Ichigo getting slightly rougher before he went slower again, the luscious drives making her want to moan. Her nails dug into the thin cloth, pleasure overtaking her, but also to release the tension within herself. She didn't want to do this to him, not one bit. She didn't want any of this to happen. And she didn't want to be pregnant unless it was Ichigo's child. If it had been, she would be happy. But she couldn't think anymore.

Heated screams filled the room as they climaxed at the same time, and Ichigo fell to her side exhausted and sweating, panting like he had just run a marathon. Rukia gasped for air along with her lover, the amazing throbbing feel of him still buried deep between her legs a reminder of what needed to be done.

Still panting, Ichigo turned to look at Rukia, hoping to see a difference in her complexion, a spark of the feeling they just experienced together.

She opened her eyes, shifting toward his own and smiled as the breath still flew out of her lungs rapidly, sweat dripping off her body and beginning to soak through the sheets. He grinned back at her and chuckled, happy that he was able to make her smile, even if it wasn't in the most expected or desired way.

"_I love you_," he whispered in his husky voice before reaching over and kissing her sweetly on the lips.

He pulled away, his tongue running over his lips and tasting the heated passion drifting off of her. The room had been tainted with the erotic perfume of sex, and the thrumming vibrations that were coursing through his body gave Ichigo the most animalistic feeling of needing it again soon. His darkened and lust filled eyes stared down at her own, and he shifted back over her body, positioning himself as if he was getting ready for round two.

Her breathing finally slowed, and her enthralled body only wanted more of what he had to offer. He was so close that she could feel his arousal pressing against her soft flesh, wanting more of that incredible feeling as well. He stared down at her, hair matted with sweat, but still looked incredibly sexy between his body and eyes and smile as he waited for her response.

_I'm sorry, Ichigo._

Rukia reached up and touched the side of his slick cheek, blinking rapidly from her own arousal, and nodded stupidly as she agreed with him.

"I love you, too."

* * *

><p><strong>Took me much longer than I wanted to rework this chapterpost a chapter (going on three months, sheesh!), but I think I tweaked it properly. I've had chunks of this chapter written for _years_, so I'm glad to be rid of it and finally move on. It's gonna get more serious and actiony soon, I promise. **

**BTW, I loves me some comments and reviews, just sayin'!**


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